“Button it up a minute,” Watchman said. He made a gesture to Stevens and Stevens moved reluctantly toward Kendrick, motioning him to stand up. While Kendrick decided to adopt an air of unamused disgust Stevens looked at Watchman, got a sharp nod and took out his handcuffs.
“Now that’s ridiculous,” Kendrick said. “Put those damn things away.”
“Put them on him,” Watchman said. “And frisk him.”
“I’m not armed.”
“Make sure, Buck.”
Stevens went over Kendrick professionally and snapped the manacles on his wrists. Charles Rand brooded at all this without stirring until Watchman swung toward him with intentional abruptness. “Kendrick killed your foreman. Joe never knew the truth—Kendrick was just his defense lawyer, that’s all he ever knew. But you knew it. You knew.”
“I’d watch my mouth if I were you, Trooper.”
Watchman shook his head. “Buck.”
“Yeah?”
“Ask Mr. Kendrick for his car keys. Go out and have a look in the trunk of that Corvette. If you find a hacksaw put an identification label on it and impound it. Don’t get your prints on it or wipe his off.”
Kendrick sat back down in his chair and shook his head. “You search nothing without a warrant. Nothing.”
“All right then we’ll wait here until I get a warrant.” Watchman went to the phone but paused before he picked it up. “Understand, you don’t move out of my sight until your car’s been searched. And your home—I expect we’ll find the Seconal there if it’s not in the car too.”
Kendrick said, “You get yourself a warrant and then we’ll see what you find.”
“You know damn well what we’ll find,” Watchman said. “We’ll also have a look at your personal checkbook.”
That one seemed to surprise Kendrick more. “What the devil for?”
“To show the payments you made to Maria Threepersons.”
“I already told you I made those payments.”
“Out of your personal account? With no corresponding deposits from your nonexistent trust fund?”
Rand said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t you who paid that money to Maria,” Watchman said to Rand. “It was Kendrick—his own money. That’s why there’s no record of any trust fund in this office.”
Kendrick sat bolt upright. “How do you know what records we’ve got in this office?”
Buck Stevens said, “Didn’t he tell you? He’s got X-ray vision.”
Kendrick ignored it and Rand went to one of the visitor’s chairs and lowered himself into it as if he had just aged fifteen years.
Kendrick reached for his desk intercom; it was an awkward movement with manacled hands. “Tom. Get in here.”
Rand just sat and watched: clearly he had decided not to say anything more until he found out how much Watchman had pieced together. He adapted well to changing realities; you had to give him that. But nevertheless a kind of bleakness covered his face like a film, a dismal overlay that made his eyes dull.
Watchman said to him, “We still need the motive. Why did Kendrick kill your foreman?”
“I told you I never saw the killer.”
“You told me a lot of things. You set it up for Kendrick—you made the deal with Joe, you gave Joe to Kendrick to be the patsy who’d take the rap for him. There’s no way for you to slide out of it. You’re an accessory.”
Kendrick said, “He’s only an accessory if you can prove anything against me, and you can’t.”
It was a shrewd remark: it reminded Rand that to speak now would be to dig his own grave. What Watchman had to do was find a way to shatter that silence.
Watchman spoke not to Kendrick but to Rand; it was Rand, of the two, who had less to lose. “The tribe had a stronger case than yours. If you went into court over those water rights you were bound to lose. Hell every water-rights lawyer with a shingle to hang out knows the Winters-versus-U.S. case, it’s broken all these private water deals down and it’ll break yours down just as fast if you ever get hauled into court. You didn’t want to go into court. You didn’t want your wells closed down. So you did a deal with Kendrick. You kept him out of prison and he kept you out of court.”
Victorio walked in during Watchman’s speech and when Watchman paused he caught Victorio’s eye. Victorio said, “What the hell is this?”
Kendrick said, “They pretend they’ve got some reason to arrest me for murder. Four murders, the man says.”
“What?”
Kendrick leaned forward and stared at him. “Did you rifle my files, Tom?”
Watchman spoke quickly. “Don’t give him the satisfaction, Tom.”
Victorio said, “What files?”
Kendrick half-shuttered his eyes and sat back again.
Victorio made an interrogatory throat-clearing sound but Watchman waved him back. He turned to Kendrick. “It’s been six years since you killed Calisher. The water case still hasn’t come to court. You must have pulled every delaying tactic in the book. Not Rand’s lawyers—you. And when you ran out of legal delays you stole your own files to set the case back another year.”
Victorio’s head rocked back. “Ah,” he breathed. “Yeah. Of course. Jesus Christ. Him!”
Watchman glanced at him. “You can confirm that part of it—the unnecessary delays Kendrick kept making.”
“You bet your ass I can.”
Kendrick said, “Tom, you’re jumping in before you find out if there’s any water in the pool. You’re in a lot of trouble with me as of right now.”
Watchman got the ball back. “You ran out of delays and you couldn’t afford to take the Indians’ case into court—because you knew you’d win.”
Rand made a sound. He was thinking about inveighing. Watchman’s angry eyes pinned him back. “He couldn’t afford to win it, could he Mr. Rand. Because if you lost it you’d throw him out in the cold to stand trial for murder.”
“You’re talking yourself into the goddamnedest slander suit that’s ever been brought in the state of Arizona,” Kendrick said. “Go right ahead, Trooper—finish digging your grave.”
“Not my grave. Yours.” Watchman went back to Rand: “It had to be like that. You forced him to keep the case out of court. And that’s why I know you’ve got the evidence to prove he killed Calisher.”
7.
Kendrick attempted to laugh but he didn’t bring it off. And the false smile slid from his face when Rand suddenly stood up.
Rand said, “Let’s go outside. I want to talk to you.” He was talking to Watchman and Watchman nodded and turned to go with him but Kendrick bounced to his feet and bellowed. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Rand sounded weary. “Shut up, Dwight. Come on”—the last to Watchman.
Victorio said, “Use my office.”
Watchman followed Rand into it. The cluttered cubicle was hardly big enough for the two of them.
Rand didn’t sit down. He leaned his shoulder against a bookshelf. His face was not readable. “I want to know how much you’ve got.”
“That’s better. You don’t——”
“I’m not admitting a damn thing, Trooper. Not now. Put your cards on the table face up and we’ll see how good your hand is. Then I’ll decide.”
“Fair enough.” It was as good as Watchman was going to get; it was a little better, in fact, than he had expected. It could save a lot of time.
He said, “Here’s what happened. Kendrick got desperate, he didn’t have any delays left in his pocket. He knew the tribal beliefs about witchcraft and he set it up to look as if Maria Threepersons had been witched. Last Monday morning he borrowed Victorio’s Volkswagen—Victorio knew it but at the moment he’s not admitting it. He will. Kendrick drove down to Maria’s house in Phoenix, in Victorio’s car. A witness saw that car drive away from her house. It ran the red light at the corner. You told me yourself that he’s color-blind, he tends to run red lights when he’s upset. You telling me about that dog he killed—that’s what made me see how it was.”