“Turned out it’s just a bad sprain,” Katy said. “But he’s depressed. He wants to get out of here and go home.”
Louis thought of his six hours in the emergency room last night waiting for the pimple-faced intern to send him on his way with a pain prescription and the pronouncement that there was no cure for his two bruised ribs except rest.
“I know how he feels,” Louis said.
Katy looked up at him, eyeing his swollen lip. “Gary says they roughed you up pretty good.”
Louis just nodded.
“You’re damn lucky Gary came by.”
Louis nodded again.
Katy let out a sigh and waved a hand. “Come on. Let’s go to my office and talk about where we’re going next.”
Her office was a corner of a cramped room with file cabinets, four desks — all vacant right now — and walls covered with maps, photographs, and notices about the panther conservation program. One bulletin board showed photographs of school kids posing with a panther and the kids’ hand-written notes and drawings of cats.
Katy moved a pile of files and motioned for Louis to take the chair next to her desk. She scanned a stack of message slips, tossed them down and swiveled her chair to face Louis.
“So what’s our next step?”
Louis pulled in a breath so deep it hurt his ribs. “You aren’t going to like it.”
“I want Grace back. Try me.”
Louis told her what Gary had said about the man breaking into the camp, adding the detail about the cigarettes with no tax stamp and the physical description Gary had provided. He watched her expression go from comprehension to a sort of weary sadness.
“You aren’t thinking of going out to the rez alone, are you?” she asked.
“No.”
Her eyes stayed on him for a moment then drifted off to something on the left. Louis saw it was a photograph of a panther. He couldn’t be sure but he thought it looked like Grace. Katy blew out a long breath and rose, taking off the plastic apron and picking up her ball cap.
“Let’s get going,” she said.
The Seminole Indian reservation was located just off Alligator Alley — the old name for Interstate 75 that everyone used for the highway that cut an east-west slash across the Everglades.
The tribe had turned their access to the interstate into a profitable oasis that offered the only gas, food and reliably clean bathrooms for anyone traveling the hundred and fifteen miles between the South Florida coasts. If you wanted some entertainment, the Seminoles also provided airboat rides in the swamps, a tour of an authentic Indian village, a museum and an alligator wrestling show.
A couple miles north of that lay the real reservation. It was a simple grid of concrete block houses and trailers interrupted by the occasional store. Black-haired boys in t-shirts and Nikes played soccer in a dirt yard, chased by dogs. A knot of women, arms draped with plastic bags from Walmart and Publix, talked on a corner. Two men stood outside the open door of a cinderblock Baptist church smoking cigarettes. It looked like any of the hard-scrabble little towns that dotted the southwest Florida landscape.
“How’s the tribe doing?” Louis asked.
Katy gave him a glance as she swung the Bronco down a side street. “Better than most, worse than some. They’ve made some money on cigarettes and bingo but the chief is pushing hard for a real casino. And I wouldn’t bet against him.”
Louis knew that Indian tribes all across the country were talking about casinos now. A mega-resort was planned for the lush Connecticut countryside and he had heard a Michigan tribe was also fighting to build one. Seeing the humble houses made him think that a business that employed a couple thousand people with benefits could do nothing but good for a place like this. But from the tone in Katy’s voice, she didn’t sound as if she approved.
“You don’t want to see a casino here?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Katy said. “It’s sort of like winning the lottery. It doesn’t always bring what you expect.”
“Unemployment is high here, right?” Louis asked.
She nodded. “And too many of the kids drop out of school.” She was quiet for a long time. “I was lucky. I got a scholarship from the tribe to FSU. But the money’s dried up.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I think they’re afraid the kids won’t come back.”
Katy swung the Bronco around a corner and stopped in front of a one-story brick building with a colorful tribal seal mounted near the glass doors. They climbed from the Bronco but before Louis even closed the door, a man emerged from the building. He was well over six feet with the build of a wrestler and the posture of man ready to defend his territory. Short cropped black hair framed a face that told Louis he was close to forty and had sent a good part of his life in the Florida sun.
“Katy Letka,” the man said.
Katy stopped a few feet in front of him. “Hello, Moses.”
“It’s been a long time. You look well.”
“I am. You look well, too.”
His black eyes shifted to Louis. “Who is this?”
“Louis Kincaid,” Katy said. “He’s working with the sheriff’s office to help locate a missing panther. Louis, this is Moses Stanton, the tribal chairman’s executive assistant.”
Stanton studied Louis for a moment then turned back to Katy. “You are also looking for this panther?”
“Yes, I’m still with the Fish and Game department,” she said. “And yes, I still love it.”
“Your skills could be useful here.”
Louis glanced at Katy. She suddenly seemed very stiff, staring at Moses Stanton with a hard squint. He suspected there might be more history here than just a tribal member who had left the flock.
“I’m useful where I am,” Katy said.
“Then why are you here?” Stanton asked.
“The missing panther is a female,” Katy said. “She has been gone four days now but she wasn’t the only cat involved in whatever is going on. Before she was taken, a male panther turned up wounded. We think whoever took Grace tried to take the male panther but lost him.”
“Capturing two large cats. Not an easy task.”
“You’re right,” Katy said. “He would have to be someone who knows the Glades and is familiar with the panthers.”
“He also has access to animal tranquilizers,” Louis added.
Stanton gave Louis a dismissive glance before his eyes moved back to Katy. “So I ask you again, why are you here?”
“We have a description of a man who has been seen in the hunting camps,” Katy said. “Long dark hair, brown skin, good at eluding the hunters.”
“An Indian,” Stanton said.
“Yes.”
“No Indian would harm the panthers.”
“I’m not sure he’s looking to harm them,” Katy said. “I believe he may be trying to mate them.”
“For what purpose?”
“I don’t know. I can only guess he thinks a cub will somehow bring him something he cannot otherwise obtain. Peace. Happiness. Some kind of special power maybe.”
“He sounds like a crazy man,” Stanton said.
“Most criminals are,” Louis said.
This time Stanton didn’t even look to Louis. His eyes drifted away from Katy to the street. He was quiet for a long time before he looked back to Katy.
“You have not been here to see your great aunt Betty in a long time,” he said.
Katy looked suddenly stricken. She took a step toward Stanton as if trying to cut Louis off from hearing. “Does Betty ask about me?” she asked softly.
“No. She recognizes no one now. Your cousins sit around her bed and sing for her soul.”
Katy pulled the brim of her ball cap lower and looked to the ground.
“The Alzheimer’s is bad,” Stanton said. “Her body is giving up. She is giving up.”
Katy looked up. “Why didn’t someone call me?”
“No one should have to.”
Katy’s face was slick with sweat. Louis could almost feel the heat of shame radiating off her.
“Katy,” he said, “I’ll go wait in the truck.”
“No, wait,” Katy said, grabbing his arm. She turned back to Stanton. “I will go to see Betty today, Moses. But right now, I need to talk about the panther. Please. I need, we need, your help.”