Page 44 of Dead Mountain

And with that somewhat ominous statement, he went silent.

They had passed Raton before Corrie could stand it no longer. “What about you, sir?”

Sharp bestirred himself. “What about me?”

“Did you come away with any fresh revelations?” Damned if she wasn’t going to interrogate the interrogator.

“Nothing beyond what we’ve already touched on.” He let a few miles of road go by before continuing. “Relating to the case, at least.”

“What, then?”

“Every now and then, Swanson, when I least expect it, something reminds me of my humanity. It happened again, during this conversation.”

“Sir?”

“When Dr. Tolland stiffened so abruptly in his chair.”

Corrie didn’t need reminding—the movement had been obvious enough. But so what? He was in the middle of having tragic news dumped on him. She thought a moment. “It was right after he guessed the ID was made by dental records.”

“Precisely.” When Corrie didn’t reply, he added, “I could be wrong, of course. But remember that before he retired, Tolland was an endodontist. I think at that moment, he was imagining making that dental identification of his son . . . himself.”

Jesus. Corrie took one hand from the steering wheel and wiped it on her sleeve.

Now that he’d been disturbed, Sharp took advantage of it to reach for a folder on the seat behind him. “As Job said, we humans are born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. And now we find ourselves bearers of trouble to the Wrights.” He opened the folder and perused it for a moment. “You can take the lead on this one, if you’d like.”

Corrie pressed her lips together as she drove southward, reminding herself in the future to be more careful what she wished for.

24

NORA PARKED IN the cracked asphalt lot and then entered the Torrance County Sheriff’s Office: a flimsy structure made of brown stuccoed panels, standing under gray skies. Snow was in the forecast, and Nora wanted to get Skip home before the flurries began.

Skip had spent the night in jail—there wasn’t anything she could have done to change that. The arraignment had been this morning, thank God. If it weren’t for the lawyer hired by Isleta Pueblo to represent him, Skip would still be sitting in jail.

She found Skip with his new attorney waiting in plastic chairs in the tiny lobby. When she came in, he jumped up and hugged her like a child—and she suddenly had memories of him doing exactly the same when coming home from school after sitting in the principal’s office for some infraction, hugging her for comfort.

He released her and she turned to greet his attorney. He was dramatic looking, tall and lean, with long black hair all the way down his back, dark brown skin, and a craggy face, wearing an expensive-looking suit and tie.

“Edward Lightfeather,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Glad to meet you. I’ve heard much about you from Councilman Tenorio.”

Nora had a dozen questions to ask, but even before she could speak, he smiled and held a finger to his lips. “Let us go somewhere quiet and secure to chat.” He emphasized the word “secure” ever so slightly.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Is that agreeable to you, Skip?” the attorney asked.

“Sure, fine. Look, Nora—”

Lightfeather pressed Skip’s shoulder. “Later.”

They went out into the parking lot of the godforsaken town, and Lightfeather paused at the door of his car—a Porsche 911—to hand Nora a card. “I’ve arranged for us to have lunch in Albuquerque at the Cervantes Club on Aztec Boulevard. One o’clock.” He reached into the car and pulled out a tie. “For you, Skip.”

He took it. “What kind of place is this?”

“Quiet. Private.” Lightfeather got in and took off with a roar, leaving a cloud of dust. Nora walked over to her pickup and Skip followed her. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Nora turned to look at him.

“I’m so sorry, Sis,” he said, his voice breaking, eyes filling with tears.

She sighed. “You were defending me. How could I blame you?”

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