AN: Thanks, TC, for the wise observation, which I've shamelessly borrowed.
And thanks, Diana Teo, my 'sis' on the other side of the world, for her comforting words, and for talking me down, when last night, with no more than 200 words to go before posting, I hit lord knows what, cuz I don't, and lost the lot. 2,500 words. Sh** doesn't come into it. More than thanks, Di.
The Rainbow Lake
Chapter 6
Trevor Buckley kicked the door shut behind him, and walked into the living room. He found his nephew sprawled on the sofa, toying with his knife. It was a Remington FAST, fairly new, with a black, ribbed handle and a highly polished blade with a serrated heel. It was an expensive, beautifully crafted, purposeful knife, and it had killed Jamie Hope.
"Ah… put that damn thing away, Gary," his uncle growled. Gary sulked but obeyed; Trevor did keep a roof over his head after all. "Where's Hastings?"
"He's gone."
"Gone? What the hell d'you mean?"
The younger man shrugged. "He's a coward…"
"Where's Buckley?"
"He's gone into the village, to see if anyone's talking about anything."
"Heh. Maybe you ought to think about going… getting out of here before they come looking for you…"
"Looking for me? They don't know who I am, man… I didn't leave any evidence."
"Don't be too sure. I've run into NCIS before -" Like yesterday, before he'd got back here to find everything had gone to hell, fast. "They're not stupid. I wouldn't bet on them not finding you."
"Finding me? You trying to make out I'm alone in this?"
"Well, hell," Hastings snarled, "All you were asked to do was find that painting!"
"By any means possible, you said! I tried to do it softly, but your damn' phone calls had put him on the defensive! I pretended to be a friend of his pal, but he wouldn't let me go to his place. Said the painting was stored somewhere real safe, and anyway he didn't want his girlfriend to worry! I had to meet him miles away! He saw through me… talked about the house building plans… He knew! I panicked…"
"You panicked," Arthur Hastings mocked. "You damn fool kid! Well, you can try that on the jury…"
"Hey – you can quit that damn talk! You think I'm taking the rap for this alone?"
Arthur heard the implicit threat, and lumbered to his feet, towering over the younger man. "You're sure as hell not taking me down with you, you stupid hothead… send a boy to do a –" He broke off as he felt something sharp against his belly. He looked down and recoiled. "Is that… that… get that thing away from me!" He backed off hastily. Gary smiled, and came slowly after him, holding the knife at arm's length. "You're crazy, boy!"
"Yeah… just another crazy injun."
"Injun? You're one of them?"
"You are so dumb... yeah, me and good ol' boy Uncle Trevor… it's been good doin' business with you, Mr. Hastings."
"You dirty young bastard…" The string of profanities didn't stop as the bulky man stumbled out of the door. A moment later his car was driven roughly away.
Trevor Buckley looked bleak as his nephew finished.
"Kinda wish you'd killed him too," was all he said.
A few miles away, Hastings had pulled over to the roadside, and sat shaking with rage, fear and humiliation. Those two had fooled him… they had no right to pass for honest white folk… the kid had made him back down, shamed him… and if he ratted them out to NCIS his head would be right there on the block with theirs. He pounded the steering wheel in fury. He'd like to go back there and kill them both, but if they still managed to get the kid to sign his land away, (which he doubted now,) he still wanted that contract.
It had nothing to do with that knife that the kid had, and wasn't afraid to use… his narrow, self-centred soul shrivelled at the knowledge that he'd been shown up as a coward. Wasn't how this good ol' boy liked to see himself. The young savage was a killer… he had no right to try and make out that he was one too. He was going down for murder, and now Arthur had to make sure that he wasn't going with him. There were plenty of people who owed him their jobs… a few of them were in Maine right now, surveying a new project. And of course he'd been with them all week.
He flipped his phone open, and paused, then brought up his son's number. No reason why he shouldn't get himself a decent meal, a shower and a comfortable bed before setting off back to Arkansas, after the crap motel that was the only place he could find in this God-forsaken heathen territory. He hated them all, and he was going to get even…
The phone rang for a while, but the answering machine didn't cut in, so he waited. No reason why they shouldn't break off whatever it was they were doing, to talk to him. Finally, a young voice said, "Hello?"
"Who the hell are you? You sound like a foreigner – you the maid or somethin'?"
The young voice began to stammer something, and Hastings heard his daughter-in-law's voice in the background. "Who is it, Sunny? You really shouldn't be ans-" He hung up with a muttered profanity. He knew who it was he'd been talking to, and he had an idea that spread a triumphant, anticipatory grin across his face. He put the car into drive, and screeched away.
NCISNCISNCISNCIS
If Tony was any judge, and he usually was, the man on the other end of the line was speaking the truth. If he'd been face to face with him, and he really had no desire to be, he'd have been in fear of drowning, the guy was spluttering so hard with indignation.
"I simply acceded to a request, Agent DiNozzo, to do something I have done before in running my business. I was offered a considerable sum of money to locate a certain painting."
"Who offered you that money, Mr. O'Hare?"
"The negotiations were carried out over the phone; I never met Mr. Harris."
"Ah." Tony firmly smoothed the 'really?' note out of his voice. "Did he specifically mention the painting by name?"
"He did indeed. He also said that it was the artist's last work. Up to that moment I had no idea that Jamie Hope was dead… a great shock. I was not… as you know, a dealer he trusted… but I'm not so twisted as to deny his talent because of that. A terrible loss…"
The big agent eased his frame in his seat, and made a sympathetic noise. "Then what happened, Mr. O'Hare?"
The spluttering began again. "I went to considerable time and effort… I was unsuccessful, but not from lack of trying. Mr. Harris called again; I said I had not been successful as yet. He was extremely rude, and refused to consider it when I asked for reimbursement for my efforts to date. The next time I was contacted it was a different person… nondescript… but the same result. I've heard nothing since."
Tony clicked his pen absently. "You said 'nondescript'. Do you mean that the first caller was not? Can you tell me what you noticed about him?"
"His mouth," the art dealer said at once. "He was polite enough in the first call, although when he referred to Jamie Hope as 'mixed race', I heard something in his tone I didn't like. When he called back, as soon as he knew I hadn't located the painting, he became vile. He was contemptuous about the Native Americans, artists, Jamie Hope's ancestry, and my sexuality. Which, I might add, he was wrong about. I'm merely professionally camp." He paused, and Tony was glad he wasn't having to keep his face straight in front of the guy. "An older man," Aslan O'Hare said finally. "The second caller was younger, but maybe not young. And I'm no good on accents, I'm sorry. Nothing heavy that I could recognise."
Tony thanked him for his help, and disconnected. "Well," he said, "We can't get Mr. O'Hare for anything more than stupidity with a side order of greed. Our redneck again, an accomplice, not the killer. There was a second caller later, 'younger but not young'."
"How do you know the redneck isn't the killer?" Ziva asked, and Tony just grinned and waited for her to figure it out. "Ah. If you had been getting those phone calls, there is no way that you would arrange to meet the voice that had been making them."
"Right. The second voice may or may not have been the murderer, so we've got two or three people at least."
"So the redneck is actually cavorting with the very people he despises," Ziva said. The three men looked at each other bewilderedly, shuffling mental dictionary pages.
"Consorting," Tim shouted triumphantly.
"McSmartarse," Tony grumbled, while the younger agent licked his finger and drew a No.1 on an imaginary blackboard, and Ziva looked bewildered in her turn. "There's the dirt in the car, and the hunting knife," the SFA went on, frowning. "Circumstantial, but it still suggests that at least one Howakhan was involved."
"There'll be more," Gibbs said grimly.
"There's the lawyer who altered the document," Tim added. "And whoever put him up to it has to be one of the tribal Elders, because if they wanted to change the use of the land, only the Elders would have the power to do it. I'm going to find out who actually owns the surrounding land."
"We've got a conspiracy here," Gibbs said positively. "It surrounds the land use… some people want to use it for something that would make them a profit… only thing I can think of is building – "
"None of the flat bits are big enough," Tony reminded him. "They'd have to blast chunks out of the cliff, or build those cantilevered type platforms like in Hollywood."
"Would the law allow them to desecrate a beautiful piece of coastline by blowing holes in it?" Ziva asked. "I thought there were strict rules about that."
Tony frowned. "There are…" He turned his attention to his computer, hammering furiously, then swore. "I don't know where to look."
"Allow FFF to help," Tim said with a mischievous grin. "Which of a hundred subtexts d'you want me to track down?"
His friend returned the grin, especially delighted at the puzzlement of the other two. "Oh… try land laws in Native American sovereign territories. At least, I'm not sure about that word sovereign… I think that has to be recognition by the US government, and they're not… the Howakhan, I mean. But they are recognised by the State of Virginia…"
"How d'ya know that, DiNozzo?"
"National Geographic, Boss… you'd be surp-"
"Got it." Tim didn't raise his voice. "Was this what you were looking for? 'Where a nation is recognised by the State in which its lands are to be found, federal laws on the use of that land do not apply. All such use is controlled by Tribal Council or similar ruling body.'"
Tony whooped. "F.F.F.! It's one of the things that's been bugging me. When Sunny told us about Tam saying he'd give the land to the Elders, I thought, 'that's a good thing to do, because he could have done whatever he liked with it' – and then it went out of my mind. They can blow holes in that hillside if they want to. What's the betting some of them do want to do just that? Thanks, McObscurefactfinder… mind you, there's still something…" He frowned again.
"Let me know if you need any more FFF… meanwhile, I'll go hunting ownership facts… see -"
"No, don't do that," Gibbs said suddenly. "Much easier to ask. Grab your gear."
Tony whooped again. "Hey, we going to Virginia, Boss?"
The senior agent picked up his phone and dialled quickly. "Private Black… Gibbs. Tell me, son, is there any Elder you'd trust with your life? Beyond question? … Ke-who? Right. Yeah, I remember you mentioned him. Need to talk to him… Yeah, we're going down – hell, no! No, you can't. What? Yeah… OK. OK. Yeah, come here first." He disconnected, and looked across at his SFA.
"Yeah, DiNozzo, we're going to Virginia… answers are there, not here. We're going to talk to Private Black's great uncle, Keshowse. And young Black's coming with us. Says he can be useful!"
NCISNCISNCISNCIS
It had been more than an hour ago, and Polly hadn't been angry, but Sunny was still feeling guilty and contrite.
"I should have thought… but it wouldn't stop ringing, and I didn't want it to wake Lucy…"
"I know. But if it had, we'd have got her back to sleep again. A bit of that young lady exercising her lungs is worth it to keep you safe. Did the caller say what he wanted?"
"He was nasty, Polly. He wanted to know who the hell I was, and he said I sounded like a foreigner, and was I the maid…"
"Ah," Polly said with a sigh. "My father-in-law." Her eyes grew remote for a moment.
"O wad some Power the gifie gi'e us,
To see oursels as ithers see us;
It wad frae monie a blunder free us…"
Sunny looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled. "Oh… it's poetry… I'd forgotten you teach it! Is it Scottish?"
Polly smiled. "Rabbie Burns… Scottish hero… he wrote some wonderfully philosophical stuff, all in dialect… I can't help remembering those lines whenever I think of Patch's father. I wish he could step back and take a look at himself through other peoples' eyes… maybe he wouldn't give us all such a hard time."
"I don't know how such a nice man as Patch could have such a horrible father," Sunny murmured sadly.
"Nor do I… but sadly, he's not alone in having to rise above his upbringing. Tony's been there too. Yesterday, after the christening, when the old ba – horror had gone – and he went off back to some business meeting and left his wife to find her own way back to Litle Rock – Spence took her to the airport; anyway, Tony sat out on the front step with Patch for half an hour talking him down. If he hadn't, my poor ol' man would have paced the house half the night trying to calm himself. Did my father-in-law hang up on you?"
"Yes…"
Polly hugged her. "Don't be afraid of the old grouch, and don't take it personally, Sunny. He does that if anyone but Patch answers the phone. He'd better not do it to Lucy in the future…"
NCISNCISNCISNCIS
The team had slept in the car in spite of Gibbs being at the wheel. He had turned over the facts as they knew them as he drove, wishing he could reach into DiNozzo's brain and jog loose whatever it was that Tony couldn't pinpoint. But the SFA lolled in the back, with Ziva snoring softly on his shoulder, while McGee, after a few heroic attempts to work on his laptop, had folded up over it until Gibbs pushed him back in his seat.
Nothing new occurred to the chronic insomniac team leader, as he followed the red glow of Alberta's tail light through the darkness, mile after steady mile, until he came down a road between two hills to a village by the water's edge, and followed Tam, as agreed, round the back of a small house, to park where the agency sedan would be less noticeable.
The team were instantly awake as the car came to a halt, and Tony glanced at his watch. A shade under two hours. No wonder young Tam looked exhilarated… The young man, who was in uniform for the first time since they had met, was about to knock quietly at the back door of the house, when it was opened by a lad of about sixteen, who greeted Tam with a grin and a hug.
"Shawn, these are the friends I told you about… Gibbs, this is my cousin Shawn… we say cousins cuz his great granddad and my granddad were brothers. Go figure. Come and meet my great uncle."
The man who rose stiffly to meet them as they entered the living room was short of stature, but commanded respect without demanding it. His hair was white, and long enough to reach the collar of his faded blue denim shirt, and his eyes were hooded, dark brown and twinkling. As Tam introduced them and they each shook the Elder's hand, the old man named them in his mind, although he didn't tell them yet. Tam would later explain that his great-uncle could show them no higher mark of respect.
"Uncle, this is Tony." Boketaw…
"Ziva." Orei…
"Tim." Ningapo Asun…
"And Gibbs." Hah. Amonsoquath.
AN: I'll tell you later what they mean, you can tell me if they fit! Review, anyone? Please?