Part 16 (2/2)

She rode the gla.s.s-enclosed elevator to the tenth floor and stepped out into a carpeted reception area with windows that curved around the periphery like the c.o.c.kpit of a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p. Beyond the windows, the clouds seemed close enough to touch.

”May I help you?” A young woman with long, dark hair that hung down the front of her white blouse looked up from a computer screen.

”I have an appointment with Dr. Hendricks.” Vicky handed her business card across the desk.

”He's expecting you.” The woman gave her a welcoming smile and lifted the phone. ”Ms. Holden to see you,” she said into the receiver. Another smile as she set the phone into place.

”Ms. Holden?”

Vicky swung around. A slim man in his mid-thirties, about six feet tall, dressed in khakis and a yellow polo s.h.i.+rt, came toward her, hand extended. His palm was rough against hers, like the palms of men who spent time outdoors.

”Come on back.” He waved her through a doorway and into a large room filled with cubicles. ”Here we are.” A hand shot out at her side and ushered her into a cubicle on the right.

It was small: a couple of chairs, bookcases crammed with books and cartons, a desk in front of the window. An outsized computer monitor took up most of the desk's surface.

”Make yourself at home.” He pulled a chair over to the edge of the desk and dropped into the other chair in front of the monitor. ”Jacob tells me you're looking into the possibility of diamond deposits in the Bear Lake Valley,” he said. ”Wonderful place.” His expression took on a faraway look. ”Spent a couple weeks hiking up there two years ago, looking at the petroglyphs. You can sense something special about the place. Be a shame to see the valley ruined by a mine.”

”My people won't let it happen.” Vicky felt the beginning of trust for this white man.

”Arapahos.”

She nodded.

He turned to the computer and began clicking the mouse. A haze of gray, blue, and green flowed onto the screen, like an impressionistic painting taking shape. ”You're seeing a bird's-eye view of Wyoming,” he said, his gaze on the colors that dissolved and re-formed. ”From about four hundred miles above the earth's surface. There are the Wind River mountains below the cloud cover.” He pointed to the k.n.o.bs of white poking through the grayness. ”Okay, now we're closing in on the central part of the state. I'm going to bring it up.”

She was looking down on the Wind River mountains: the snow covering the high, treeless peaks, the sharp definition of cliffs, the rivers threading the area. A tiny truck was on a road. Ranch buildings, trucks, and cars scattered about a green meadow, like miniature blocks.

Slowly the image began moving eastward over the valley itself. They were skimming the tops of the junipers and pinons, swooping overhead like the eagles that guarded the area. She could see the jagged cliffs and Bear Lake nestled at the base of the slopes. ”I don't see the petroglyphs,” she said.

”They're here.” The image stopped on the cliffs above the lake. ”We're looking straight down, so we can't pick up the vertical images on the face of the cliffs.”

After a moment she heard herself telling the scientist that the valley was a holy place where the spirits had chosen to live on the earth.

”I believe it,” he said, moving the mouse. ”Now let's go prospecting.” The view was changing. The mountain slopes and pine trees gave way to meadows carpeted in gra.s.ses.

Vicky held her breath. Suppose there was no pipe. Her theory would collapse. Nothing about the deaths of Vince and Jana Lewis would make sense.

”Bingo,” Hendricks said. ”Here it is.” He pointed to an open park. ”Kimberlites are marked by vegetation anomalies. No trees in the area, and noticeably higher stands of gra.s.s, which makes the pipe susceptible to remote sensing. Also, notice the bluish earth caused by the erosion of the rocks.”

There was a clicking sound, and the image was magnified. Through the brush and gra.s.s, Vicky could see the large bluish circle in the earth. The circle was enclosed by dark rocks, so different from the red-and-brown boulders in the area and the pink sandstone cliffs above.

”A kimberlite pipe,” Hendricks said. ”Formed from molten lava thrust up four hundred million years ago. Brought diamonds close to the surface, where human beings, real Johnny-come-latelies on the earth, found the sparkling nuggets and decided they'd look good on their bodies. Imagine. People walking around with billion-year-old rocks on their fingers.” He glanced at her left hand, then looked away.

”Are there other pipes in the valley?” she said.

”We'll see.” He turned back to the screen. Fifteen, twenty minutes pa.s.sed. The scientist was quiet, immersed in the changing images.

”Don't find any,” he said finally. ”Doesn't mean they're not there. It'd take a lot of time to examine the data more closely.”

The kimberlite pipe he'd found flashed back onto the screen. ”Look at that.” He jabbed a finger at what looked like a disturbed area in a section of the black rock. ”Somebody's been working this pipe. Probably taking test samples of ore.”

Vicky could feel her heart speed up. ”What's the exact location?”

”Exact coordinates, here we come.” Another click-click. Numbers appeared on the screen.

”How far is the pipe from the main road?”

Hendricks studied the numbers. ”I'd say about four miles in a straight line north of the big petroglyph on the cliff. I'll print it for you.” He clicked the mouse. A whirring sound started somewhere down the corridor.

”I can't tell you how much help you've been,” Vicky said, rising from her chair.

The scientist was on his feet. ”Hold on,” he said, darting out the door. In two or three minutes he was back. He handed her a printout of the image.

”Not often I get the chance to go looking for diamonds,” he said, walking her into the corridor. ”I'm usually after the telltale signs of oil and coal and methane gas. Not as exciting.”

She shook the man's hand and told him she could find her way out.

This is it, she thought, clutching the paper to the front of her raincoat as the elevator dropped past the other floors. She had the evidence, the motive for three murders.

She dialed Steve Clark's number as she made her way into the parking lot. It was raining lightly, the black clouds lengthening overhead. His answering machine picked up, and the familiar instruction came over the line. ”Leave your name and number. I'll get back to you.”

”It's Vicky.” She slid inside the Bronco and turned the ignition. The engine emitted a low growl. ”I have information on Vince Lewis's murder. I have to talk to you right away.”

She ended the call, and at the red light on Orchard Road, she dialed St. Francis Mission. The phone started to ring as she turned onto the entrance to I-25. The green-and-white highway signs swayed overhead, and the wipers cleared twin cones on the winds.h.i.+eld.

For the first time she noticed the black sedan in the rearview mirror. Her mouth went dry. The ringing stopped, replaced by another answering machine, another familiar voice. Where are you, John?

At the beep, she said, ”Call me as soon as you get in. I know what's going on at Bear Lake. I know why Duncan Grover was murdered.”

She clicked off, tossed the phone on the pa.s.senger seat, and swung out into the pa.s.sing lane. Pressing hard on the accelerator, pa.s.sing a string of cars before pulling back into the right lane. The black sedan was still there.

She turned out again, this time switching back and forth across the lanes, weaving through the traffic, the winds.h.i.+eld wipers squealing like trapped animals.

The sedan was gone. Her hands froze to the wheel. The sedan on the highway to Laramie, and now here. How could she have been so naive? She was only gathering information, she'd told herself. There was no danger. Information was always dangerous, if someone didn't want you to have it. Vince and Jana Lewis had been killed because of information.

The black sedan was in the mirror again. Suddenly it shot past, but not before she caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, middle-aged white man at the wheel, his face averted from her. The sedan pa.s.sed three or four cars ahead before disappearing into the lane she was in.

The overhead signs blurred past. Colfax. Speer Boulevard. Vicky moved into the turning lane and followed the ramp that curved over the highway before dumping her onto North Speer. She made herself take several deep breaths. The sedan was gone for good this time.

<script>