Homicide My Own - Anne Argula [16]
He was on a high rough-hewn bed of cedar, covered against the morning chill with a handmade quilt of a bear design . He had been nursed by the chief’s wife, a pleasantly plump woman with braided hair who might have been a beauty in her youth. So might have we all.
His arms were above the quilt and the right wrist, where he had attempted to gnaw his way to redemption, was heavily bandaged. His eyes fluttered when he saw us come to his bedside, as though he needed any more proof of the seriousness of his situation. I looked at him for a moment, felt no need for introductions, but thought I’d better recite him his rights first off, which I did, while the others held their places respectfully, as though it were some kind of prayer. He was under arrest. Again.
“How is he?” I asked Mrs. Shining Pony.
“He’ll live,” she said, without sympathy. It’s hard to find sympathy among middle-aged women for a man who will seduce a fourteen-year-old girl.
“Mr. Houser,” I said, “we’re here to take you back to Spokane.”
He looked from one to the other of us with frightened eyes, then raised himself slightly, his head moving back and forth as though looking for something.
Mrs. Shining Pony grabbed a bucket off the floor next to the bed and held it under his mouth. Into it he spewed a great rush of fluids, gagged, and did it again, before falling back to the pillow. He was spent, and oblivious to the cries from below, “Charlie! Charlie! I love you, Charlie!”
I took a look into the bucket, to check for blood, but it was nothing more than breakfast.
“I’m going to have to call Spokane,” I said.
I did that while Odd sat down with the chief and his wife for the breakfast we were promised. I took a cup of coffee with me, in case it was going to be a call of some duration, which it turned out to be. I got the lieutenant on the phone and told him it didn’t look good for today either. I waded through the silence that spelled his unhappiness. I never looked forward to talking with the lieutenant. The only pleasure it gave me was that I seemed to just naturally infuriate him.
“He’s a sorry looking son of a bitch, Houser,” I said. “Puking, shitting, fainting away…not the sort of person you’d want in the back of your car. By the way, little Stacey and her woeful mother have set up camp at the chief’s door. The kid won’t leave without seeing her true love, and her mother looks pretty much powerless to influence her one way or the other.”
“They are not our problem,” said the lieutenant.
“Yes, sir, just bringing you up to date. By the way, I had to pepper spray her.”
“Who?”
“Stacey. She grabbed my arm.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“I wish she wouldn’t interfere, but she seems determined to do same.”
“Can you concentrate on Houser? He’s the felon.”
“Oh, he has my complete attention. I’m not sure I can say the same for Odd.”
“Odd? What’s with Gunderson?”
“Nothing.”
“You brought it up. Out with it. What?”
“You know Odd.”
“Quinn, don’t bust my balls.”
“Oh, it’s this old-timey murder case they got here. Odd’s playing detective, thinks he can solve the case. It’s older than he is and colder than you are.”
“A murder case?”
“Affirm.”
“And he thinks he can solve it? Gunderson?”
“He’s gone all dreamy on it. I mean, he’s fine and all, but there ain’t much for us to do except wait for Houser to stop puking. So in the meantime, Odd’s been playing detective.”
“Tell him not to do that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him to stay out of people’s way.”
“Will do.”
“How long’s it gonna take?”
“What?”
“For Houser to stop puking.”
“I’ll ask the medicine man.”
“Don’t bust my balls, Quinn!”
“Sorry, Lieutenant.”
Just then, Odd came up to me with a piece of golden frybread sitting on a napkin, oozing grease. “Have this while it’s hot,