The red light on Lela’s answering machine was blinking the number three.   “She has caller ID,” I said to Tim Marshall.  He nodded, as if he already knew, and yanked a latex glove from his front pocket and slipped it on his right hand.  He picked up the phone and started to touch the caller ID button, and then realized that his left hand was glove-free.  He set the phone back on the charger and put a glove on his left hand and repeated the procedure.  I looked over his shoulder at the names and phone numbers of the previous callers.

“Two calls from Samuel Silver?” Tim said.  “Why would he be callin’ Lela?”

Samuel Silver was an actor who lived on the outskirts of Jackson Hole in a large ranch-style log home.  He hadn’t been in many blockbuster films lately, so his name wasn’t as hot as some of the other celebrities about town.  He’d been a client of Harry’s for years, and we were currently representing him in a palimony lawsuit.  I met him at his deposition and found him to be a nice man, but the tabloids claimed that his drug problem made him abusive on the sets and that directors hated working with him.

“What would he be doin’ callin’ Lela?   He’s one of the most famous people livin’ around here.  I heard that he goes for the younger ones.  Has she ever mentioned him?”   I shrugged my shoulders and explained to Tim that he was a client, but couldn’t imagine why he’d be calling her at home.  Tim continued to scroll through the caller I.D.  “Looks like Dr. Miller’s called quite a few times.  Who’s he?”

“His name sounds familiar,” I said, remembering that I’d seen his name recently.   After thinking about it for a minute, I realized that it was his name on one of the skin care products in the bathroom.  “He must be the dermatologist that Lela goes to.”

“Did she have some kind of medical procedure?”

“Not that I know of.  Why?”

“A dermatologist who calls his patients at home?”  Tim made another notation in his spiral.  “I need to get the records from the phone company to identify the rest of these numbers.”

“Can the phone company identify the private caller numbers?”  I knew that they could identify any number.  We’d subpoenaed the phone company records many times in other cases. 

“You bet they can,” Tim said, about to go into a long dissertation on phone records.  “Oh, excuse me.  Camille’s here.” 

A large-breasted woman walked through the front door carrying what looked like a metal toolbox in her right hand.  A young man was at her side carrying a similar looking box.  Tim walked over to Camille and whispered to her.  She nodded.

“Good morning everyone,” Camille said, as if she was addressing a large crowd.  “My name’s Camille and I’m in charge of forensics.  I’m sure that Deputy Marshall already told you this, but please don’t touch or move anything.  We’ll ask questions if we need answers.  Thanks for your cooperation.” 

Camille looked like a woman in charge of her life.  Her command of the room was like that of a three-star general.  She slid her hands into latex gloves and pulled out a wad of plastic bags, shoving a black marker and a pair of small scissors into her shirt pocket.  Her colleague pulled out a jar of black powder and a large brush and while he dusted for fingerprints, Camille clipped carpet samples from the stained area and placed them in baggies, intermittently snapping pictures from the camera draped around her neck.  

“What’s that?” I asked, as she pulled a black wand out of her toolbox.

“It’s an alternative light source, which is a fluorescent light that helps reveal prints and stains.”  She sprayed the carpet with a bottle marked “Luminol” and then held the light to it.  Her assistant nodded.  “Take a large swatch,” she said to him.

I followed Camille back to Lela’s bedroom, where she put the fluorescent light over Lela’s unmade bed.  A spot appeared in the middle of the sheets.  I watched as Camille removed the sheets from Lela’s bed and placed them in a paper grocery bag.  She then cut out a swatch of the mattress and bagged it as evidence.   

* * *

When Ed Washakie Duran arrived, the forensic team was just finishing.  Ed, a short Shoshone Indian in his early fifties, wore a light brown western shirt that barely covered his girth.  The cuffs of his faded blue jeans were tucked loosely into his work boots, which were dusted with dried mud.  His high, pronounced cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes reminded me of Lela.  He reached out to shake Harry’s hand.    

“I’d like to introduce you to Deputy Sheriff Tim Marshall.  He’s in charge of the investigation,” Harry said to Ed.

“When was the last time you heard from your daughter?” Tim asked in a tone so strong that it sounded like a horsewhip.  Ed took a step back.

“She c-c-called yesterday to tell us about the O’Connor case.  We’d been following it c-c-closely.”  Ed took a deep breath, then wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.  “It’s h-h-hot in here.  Did someone turn up the heat?”     

“Did she say whether she had weekend plans or anythin’ like that?”

“N-n-no.  She comes out to the ranch on Sundays to visit –,” Ed paused and sucked in his breath.  He looked around the room, taking inventory of the people staring at him, and then continued.  “I asked if she was gonna make it this weekend and she said that she wasn’t sure yet.  She usually calls Sunday m-m-morning and lets us know her plans.”  His lower lip trembled as he talked.

“It’s okay.  She’s going to be okay,” Harry said, giving Ed a pat on the back.

“Did Lela have any enemies?” Tim asked rather abruptly.

I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, Harry or Ed, so I waited in uncomfortable silence for someone else to answer.  Ed looked at Harry and shrugged his shoulders.  Harry glanced at me and I did the same. 

“I don’t know of any enemies,” Harry finally said, sounding unsure of his answer. 

Tim looked in Ed’s direction and raised an eyebrow, inviting a response.

“Well, I don’t know of any enemies either.”  Ed rubbed his chin with his index finger and thumb and took a deep breath before continuing.  “There’s this k-k-kid named Jimmy Lonewolf who gave Lela a real hard time when they were growing up, but I don’t know if I’d call him an enemy.  Jimmy’s a bully and liked to pick on Lela.  She was the type of k-k-kid that didn’t back d-d-down.”

Jimmy Lonewolf’s reputation preceded him and I was fairly sure that he was the reason that Lela didn’t finish high school.  I decided to chime in.  “Sheila said that he followed her around town and threatened her.”  Ed stepped forward after I spoke.

“He’s not quite right in the head.  He got himself b-b-bucked off a horse when he was a kid and he hit his head on a rock.”  I sensed that Ed was a bit defensive of Jimmy.

“Do you think he’s capable of harming Lela?”

“I hope not,” Ed started out, cautiously.  Jimmy Lonewolf was protected by the shield of a bad reputation, and it appeared that Ed was not about to stir up any trouble.   It was no secret that Lonewolf was a member of the Arapaho tribe, and the Shoshone and Arapaho had never gotten along well.   Lela told me how the Arapaho forced the Shoshone west of the Laramie Mountains in the late eighteenth century. 

“I’ve never heard of him being in any kind of t-t-trouble, other than petty stuff.  He’s been kicked out of school for fighting.  That sort of thing.  You might know him if you saw him.  He’s got long, black hair that’s usually pulled back in a ponytail and he’s got this silver front t-t-tooth.  Kids around these parts call him ‘Hi Ho Silver’ on account of that tooth.” 

“Sounds familiar.  I might have given him a ticket for speedin’.  Anyone else?”

“Not that I know of.”  I sensed that Ed was uncomfortable with the interrogation and was offering as little information as possible.

“What about boyfriends?  Does Lela have a boyfriend?”   Ed looked at Harry with a sly glance, as if to say, “Do you want to field this one, or should I?”

“I don’t know much about her boyfriends.  She never brings anyone out to the ranch with her and she doesn’t talk much about her personal life.  My wife frets about her not being married.  But if the Missus brings it up, Lela doesn’t like it, so we stopped asking her about it a while back.”  Ed took a handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped his forehead.  “Harry’s son has always been interested.”

“John’s never made it a secret that he cares for Lela, but he’d never hurt her!” Harry said.  I could feel the mounting tension between Harry and Ed – some unresolved dispute lingered between them.

“I didn’t mean it that way.  I just meant that J-J-John has been interested in Lela for many moons.” 

Harry took a step back and folded his arms across his chest, as if to say, “Don’t go any further with this one.”  Ed titled his head to the right, looking directly into Harry’s eyes.  Communication was unspoken yet understood.  Ed did not elaborate any further.  Tim broke the silence again.

“Did she owe anyone money?”

“She had a monthly payment on her t-t-truck and she paid rent for this apartment, but that’s all I know of.  Lela took care of her own finances and she never asked for money.  Hasn’t asked for a dime since she was fifteen.” 

Harry cleared his throat and said, “She did ask for an advance on her bonus around Christmas this past year for the first time ever.  She said that she needed some money to make a down payment on her truck.  And she did ask for an advance recently on a paycheck for April.  She’d never done that before either.  Maybe she was in over her head on that expensive truck.  I tried to talk her into a less expensive model and then I tried to talk her out of getting that stereo put in there.  And she clearly didn’t need the leather bucket seats.  She insisted on every bell and whistle -”

“I’m sure that J-J-John didn’t mind selling it to her.”

“John threw in half of her upgrades for free.  I don’t think he made a commission off that sale because he gave her such a good deal.”

“Okay.  Okay.  You’ve made your point,” I said to Harry.  “Let’s focus on the issue at hand.”  Tim nodded in agreement.

“Do you know if she borrowed money from anyone else?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know.  Like I said, she took care of her own money.”

“What about clients?  Are there any clients that have taken a particular interest in her?”

“All of our clients have taken an interest in her,” Harry said in a much more pleasant tone.  “She knows all of their names and their children’s and spouse’s names.  She makes them feel well taken care of.  The holiday gifts we get are usually addressed to her.”

“Have any of your clients asked her out?”

“Probably a lot of them, but I don’t know who.  I try to stay out of that sort of thing.  She’s always kept her personal life personal and her professional life professional, as far as I know.  Mac knows more about that kind of thing.”  Tim turned my way for elaboration.  I shook my head.

“Not really.  Like Harry said, Lela kept her personal life private,” I said.   On Monday mornings, Harry and I often discussed the weekend, sharing stories of outdoor adventures or social events.  Lela, despite her warmth and charm, rarely discussed her personal life.  We knew that she went to the ranch most weekends, and if pressed about what she did on the ranch, she usually said that she just hung around with her mom.  Not having the opportunity to spend much time with my own mother, I wanted Lela to elaborate, mostly to live out a mother-daughter relationship vicariously through her.  But Lela was protective of her family time.

“Have any clients disliked her?”

“No,” Harry and I both shouted at the same time.

“Maybe you’ve gotten someone off from a crime and the victim held a grudge.  Or maybe someone’s had to do time and they’re mad about it?”

“Whoa.  You’re getting ahead of yourself.  This might have nothing to do with my law practice.” 

“Anything’s possible.  It’s possible that Lela’s out there somewhere just partyin’ down and you’ll see her red eyes Monday mornin’ at work.  But it’s also possible that somethin’s wrong.  It’s better to look at it from all sides,” Tim said.

“It might help if I go to the office and look through our client list to see if anything comes to mind,” I said.  “Hey, that reminds me of something.  Remember when I was attacked at the office last December?   Whoever it was that attacked me rummaged through Lela’s desk and booted up her computer before I got to the office that morning.  I wonder what he was looking for?” 

“I forgot about that.  Lela’s desk was torn apart,” Harry said. 

“I never heard about th-th-that.  Someone broke into the office?  Did you catch the g-g-guy?”

“No,” I said.  Tim glanced over my way and then took notes in his spiral.  He knew that I was upset that the perpetrator hadn’t been caught and that the police department hadn’t done more to investigate the case.  I couldn’t get over the fact that I had been sexually assaulted at gunpoint in broad daylight in our office, which sits above a busy bank in downtown Jackson.  I felt like either the police didn’t believe me, or that they didn’t pursue it more vigorously because I hadn’t been raped or killed.  Since the case hadn’t been assigned to Tim and the perpetrator didn’t leave much evidence behind for the police to go on, I had to move on and not hold a grudge against Tim. 

“Does anyone know if Lela keeps a diary or journal?”  Tim asked, changing the subject.  Harry looked at me for an answer.

“I’ve never seen her writing in a diary, but I can’t be sure.  Maybe Sheila knows,” I said.

“She kept one as a little girl,” Ed said.  “I don’t know what happened to it or if she still keeps one.  I can ask the Missus.”

“Ask and let me know.  If any of you can think of anthin’ that might be important, anythin’ at all, call me,” Tim said.  He handed out his business card to each of us.   As he struggled to get his wallet back into the pocket of his snug uniform, Camille whispered something to him.  “It’ll take forensics some time to work up the fingerprints and other evidence.  We’ve put an APB out on her.  If anyone hears anythin’, call the police department and have me paged.”

“Come with me, Harry.  Let’s take a drive.  We have to find her today because she’s supposed to perform the fire dance during the Mother Earth ceremony t-t-tomorrow.  Lela’s the only member of our tribe with the gift of fire.”  Harry put his arm around Ed’s shoulder and they walked out the door.  Gift of fire?

* * *

Just after Harry and Ed left, Camille held up a pink cotton swap. “We’ve got blood!”

“Rope it off,” Tim said.  “This is now officially a crime scene.  I need to ask everyone who’s not a member of the police department to leave.”  I ran out the door to catch Ed and Harry.