Chapter 13
The day after his meeting with Max and Kate, Lyle got in his Mustang and headed for Polk. His previous statements to the contrary, he was not at all sure Clyde Bates had a handle on what was going on. Lyle had a sense he would do best by starting from scratch on his own. Whoever was trying to sabotage the park had killed one person, injured dozens more, and put Earl in the hospital. The sooner Lyle found out who was doing this, the sooner he could get back in his cab full time. Max had suggested he cut back his hours in the cab, as necessary, to accommodate his investigation.
On the car radio, Tommy Roe sang, “Dizzy,” as Lyle slowed his silver convertible and pointed it down the main street of Polk. Until the coming of Nostalgia City, Polk was a dusty Southwest town that relied on its scenic railroad and its proximity to old Route 66 to lure tourists.
When Maxwell’s project was far enough along to persuade the locals the park would become a reality, it was as if gold had been discovered. Opportunists rushed into town. Some arrived in search of a job; others had different ideas of how to make money from the millions of tourists who would be flocking to this high-desert Disneyland. Speculators and developers bought up land. Existing merchants adopted ’60s- or ’70s-oriented names and sold rock-and-roll souvenirs.
Lyle found the San Navarro County Sheriff’s Office on a commercial street, a few blocks from the main drag. It looked as if it was left over from the ’60s. The black ceiling fans and battered desks made Lyle think of scenes from The Fugitive TV show. Although the sheriff, Jeb Wisniewski, didn’t seem to understand why Lyle wanted to speak with him, he had nonetheless agreed to a meeting.
“So you’re the guy who’s gonna stop all the accidents and malicious mischief in Nostalgia City,” Wisniewski said. “That right?”
He was a heavyset man with long, jet-black hair that flowed down his back. Dark eyebrows, like stocky caterpillars, inclined over each eye.
He sat behind a dark mahogany desk. The words Sheriff Wisniewski were displayed in bronze letters frozen in a fat acrylic nameplate. Next to it, a scorpion and a large stone arrowhead were also sealed in acrylic. Wisniewski hadn’t stood up when Lyle walked in, just pointed to a seat. He introduced Lyle to his assistant, Rey Martinez, who leaned against a cabinet. The sheriff wore a suit, the tall Martinez a tan uniform.
“They’re not just accidents, are they?” Lyle said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“That place where you work is pretty important to this town,” the sheriff said. “Half the people in Polk work there. We don’t like it when someone tries to trash it. Ya know what I mean?”
“Do you have any theories about the accidents or whatever you want to call them?”
“You’re asking me? Why don’t you ask Clyde Bates? He’s got all the answers out there. Don’t you work for him?”
“No.”
“But you’re the ex-cop from Phoenix, right?”
Word got around. “Right now I’m just a civilian.”
“Well, if Bates doesn’t know what’s going on, I suggest you do some police work on your own and find out. We’d like to know, too.”
Lyle was ready with a smart remark but remained silent for a moment. He tilted his head to one side.
“What the sheriff means,” Martinez began, “is that we don’t get any cooperation out there. Bates is ex-FBI and--”
“He thinks he runs everything,” Wisniewski said.
“What do you mean?” Lyle said. “I thought--”
“What did you think? That since I’m the sheriff of San Navarro County I might have jurisdiction in the county? That’s what I thought, too. But your buddies out there think they’re in another world. We go out there to investigate an accident or a theft. We get crap from the guards at the gate. So I tell them they have to give us immediate access. Through employee entrances, or whatever. Finally, we get that straightened out. Then there’s the gas station crash. That guy from Texas is killed. But by the time we get the call, everything’s been cleaned up. We don’t even see the car until it’s been towed to the body shop. Now your attorneys are trying to settle with the family. Wonder how much that will cost?
“And now you got a dozen people in the hospital, your monorail is all smashed up, and you come in here and ask me what I think is going on. I don’t have a theory. I don’t have a clue. I don’t know shit. Does that clear things up for you?”
Lyle could see why Bates and the sheriff got along so well. It was obvious that Bates had Maxwell’s approval to handle some crimes on an in-house basis. Understandable, but not the best way to deal with local authorities.
“One more thing. My name’s Wisniewski, but I’m a quarter Native American. So don’t give me any of that shit about the tribes being involved in this. That’s what Bates thinks. If there’s any problem on the reservation, I can handle it. Or anything else. Some of my ancestors may have been peaceful, but that doesn’t mean I am.”
The sheriff looked as if he might be remembering something else to throw at Lyle, but a deputy stuck his head in the office and motioned to Wisniewski. The sheriff looked at his watch then got up and left without another word.
After several seconds passed, Martinez spoke. “The sheriff and I really want to find out what’s going on at the park.”
“I would, too.”
Martinez took a step forward and put one elaborately stitched cowboy boot on the other wooden chair in front of the sheriff’s desk. He leaned toward Lyle. “But we need help. We can’t solve crimes if we’re called to the scene a few hours or a few days later.”
Martinez had a tall face and light skin that only hinted at his Latino heritage. Lyle noticed the distance between his nose and upper lip seemed unusually long, as if he had just shaved off a moustache making the empty space seem vast.
“I didn’t know anything about your disputes with Bates,” Lyle said. “Talking to the local sheriff was the logical first step, but I can do this on my own.”
“No. You need to cooperate with us.” Martinez made eye contact with Lyle. “The sheriff is just a little upset about this.”
“A little upset? What happens when he’s really mad?”
“You know what’s it’s like, trying to solve cases, getting shit from superiors and no help from anyone else.”
“I have an idea, yes.”
“If I can help, I will. We decided the gas station death was just a freak accident, so that’s what the papers reported. Any talk about sabotage would have been bad for business. Bad all around. Besides, we didn’t have evidence, remember? Maybe it was an accident.”
“So...”
“So you can see we’re on the same side, but you need to keep us informed. First we heard about the monorail crash the other day was when someone called paramedics. Who knows when Bates would have called us? He’s being foolish. We have to know what’s happening out there.”
“If I find out who’s doing this, I promise to let you know before I do anything. But I can’t guarantee that Bates will be any more cooperative. I don’t work for him.”
“How’s that work? Weren’t you involved in both big crashes?”
“By accident. Literally. I just happened to be in the wrong places. Earl Williams is a friend of mine. That’s why I was at the mobile studio. The president of NC asked me to nose around, see if I can find out anything. I said okay.”
“Are you going out to the reservation?”
“Some members of the tribe don’t want the railroad to cross part of the reservation property, even though the tribe has already signed off on it.”
“I talked to them myself, and the tribal police work with us. George Brown is the chief. He’s hiring lots of people for the casino. He thinks the tribe’ll be rich over this.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t know. Not all Native Americans support the idea of gambling. Slot machine money doesn’t always mean better schools or better jobs for the people on the reservation.”
“I understand someone named Johnny Cooper is the leader of the band that’s against the railroad.” This was one of the few useful items Lyle had learned from Bates. “Is that right?”
“They say the casino shuttle will violate sacred grounds.”
“But you don’t have any evidence against Cooper?”
“Not really. I already talked to him.”
“Can you tell me what he’s like?”
“A hothead.”