Death on the Greasy Grass by C. M. Wendelboe Page B

his boot. “All right. I’ll put out the word we need to talk with Sam. But it won’t be easy with a drunk like Sam who crashes wherever he gets the urge.”
    â€œFind Itchy, too, if he crashed here with Sam.”
    â€œAll right.” Stumper held up his hands as if surrendering. “As soon as we turn over the right rocks and find them, I’ll notify you.”
    Manny smiled and laid his hand on Stumper’s shoulder. “What else you got to do? Work those meth cases?”

C HAPTER 6

    â€œNot the friendliest soul I’ve ever met.” Willie watched Stumper’s marked Tahoe disappear around the corner of the parking lot. He unlocked the door of Manny’s Oldsmobile and draped his arm over the jamb. “Son of a bitch acts like he doesn’t want to work with us to find out who set Harlan up. Acts like his shit don’t smell.”
    Manny paused before sliding into the blistering passenger seat, and he pulled his shorts down as far as they would go. He wished he had bought cloth seat covers for the old car. “You weren’t exactly the ideal ambassador for the Lakota Nation yourself.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œBesides using up all his Copenhagen, you were on the prod to climb Stumper’s frame the moment you met him.”
    â€œBullshit.”
    â€œBullshit no shit. It was like you felt obligated to be openly hostile to him ’cause he’s Crow. Just like in the old days.”
    Willie looked away, and Manny knew he mulled that over in his mind. The Crow were historic enemies of the Lakota, even scouting for the government in the old days in their hunt for the Lakota. “Maybe I wasn’t Officer Friendly with him.” Willie rolled the window down. “I guess I’m just upset for being stuck here, especially since I’m not convinced Harlan’s death was anything but an accident.”
    â€œI hope you’re right.” Manny flipped open his cell and punched in the Billings Field Office. “I hope this was an accident and we can wrap this up quick. We got a week left on our vacation, and I feel Old Faithful calling our names.”
    An operator came on Manny’s cell, a soft, bedroom voice, much like Clara’s last night urging him to come home soon. Clara had been the one to suggest he and Willie get away together, away from work, away from Pine Ridge, and just relax. “So you can have one guy vacation,” she had said, and Manny knew what she meant: after he and Clara were married, there would be little guy time for Manny to get away. And right now, Manny regretted coming to Crow Agency. If he’d have just listened to Willie, bypassed the Little Big Horn reenactment and headed straight for Yellowstone . . . “Can you connect me with Special Agent McGinnis.”
    After a brief pause, McGinnis came on the line. “Get that accidental death taken care of?”
    â€œI need you to call a guy and get him patched through to me.”
    â€œMinute.” Papers shuffling on the other end. “All right. Shoot.”
    â€œGuy named Adrian Beauchamp.” Manny spelled his name phonetically.
    â€œOkay. Where?”
    â€œOutskirts of Paris.”
    â€œGeorgia?”
    â€œFrance.”
    â€œDo you know what time it is there?” McGinnis said after a long pause.
    Manny quickly calculated Paris time. “A little after two in the morning. And your point?”
    â€œMy point? You want me to wake up some poor bastard at two in the morning so you can talk to him about an accident?”
    â€œMight not be accidental.”
    McGinnis sighed loudly into the receiver. “You want me to call this Frenchman now?”
    â€œBob, if you’d rather work this reservation case yourself, I’ll call Beauchamp . . .”
    Manny let the threat hang, enjoying the long pause on the other end of the line as Bob McGinnis weighed working a case on