If Rand died it would benefit a large number of people. It would be a feather in the cap of Harlan’s red-power movement, especially if an Indian’s finger was on the trigger. Rand’s elimination would ease the pressures on the tribe’s leaders, who needed successes in their war against Rand’s destruction of the Reservation’s lakes and pastures.

Rand’s death would make the job easier too for Kendrick and Tom Victorio because Rand might have successors but they would be corporate and few dictatorships outlasted the lifetimes of their founding dynasties. As far as Watchman knew, Rand had no children to carry on the leadership of his feudal empire. The corporate heirs in their eastern boardrooms would never marshal the same single-minded fervor that Rand could summon when he went into a fight. They would lose interest, they would consider the public face they had to maintain, they would give way before liberal pressures from both the tribe and the Establishment.

It meant there could be a dozen men with reasons to want Rand dead.

Joe Threepersons had been loaded, cocked and aimed at Charlie Rand. But Joe was somebody’s tool, and Watchman had too much invested in the case to leave it go at arresting Joe.

As far as that went he had his plan and he expected Joe would walk into it.

But it just wasn’t enough.

5.

Rand was a sure driver, he kept his big fists at a steady ten-minutes-to-two configuration on the wheel and the big Rolls chewed up miles in air-conditioned silence. Halfway to Whiteriver they spent ten minutes in a thunderstorm and batted through it with the wipers slapping the heavy rain aside.

Rand spoke very little and Watchman spent most of the ride with his eyes shut, working it out. In the middle of the afternoon the big car crunched down the highway past the filling station and pulled into the lot between the trading post and the council house. Rand switched off the ignition and pocketed the key. “Your move.”

Buck Stevens must have been inside the trading post. He came around the corner in uniform, giving a half-wave of lazy greeting. Watchman made the introductions and Stevens showed his admiration for Rand’s automobile.

“Where’s Victorio?”

“I guess he went back to his office.”

“Kendrick in there too?”

“I suppose so. That’s his car, isn’t it?”

Watchman glanced at the Corvette and nodded. He said, “Joe Threepersons has been used, Buck. The man who broke him out of prison wanted him to kill Rand for him.”

“You talking about Harlan Natagee?”

“No.”

“Then you’re not making too much sense.”

“I’ve got a theory. We’ll see how it works out. Just follow my lead and try to look wise.”

“Easier done than said.” Stevens grinned at him.

Charles Rand said, “Where do I fit in?”

“You keep your mouth shut until you’re asked to comment. Fair enough? Otherwise you can sit in your car and wait for all I care.”

“It’s your ball game. You call the rules.”

“Keep it in mind,” Watchman said and walked away across the parking lot with the two men at his heels.

He went right past the fat girl at the reception desk and strode the length of the corridor to the law offices. Pushed the door open and went straight through to Dwight Kendrick’s office.

Kendrick looked up from his desk with raised eyebrows.

Watchman waited for Stevens and Rand to come into the room behind him. Then he said to Kendrick, “You’re under arrest.”

Kendrick’s face remained fixed in its expression. “On what charge?”

“First-degree murder. Four counts.”

6.

Kendrick leaned back in his chair. “Haw. Haw.”

Rand’s eyes had gone hooded, concealing his emotions. “Four counts?”

The question revealed something but Watchman let it pass momentarily. He ticked them off on his fingers. “Ross Calisher. Maria Threepersons. Joe Threepersons Junior. Jimmy Oto.”

Kendrick said in a mild way, “Where’s your warrant, Trooper?”

“I’ll get one. In the meantime I’m in my rights holding onto you.”

“You’ll end up looking like a prize ass. You know that.”

“What, no indignant denials?”

“Would there be much point to that?” Kendrick laced his hands behind his head. “It doesn’t matter what I deny. I don’t know how you managed to jump to these ridiculous conclusions but if I were you I’d——”

“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.