Eye of the Wolf by Margaret Coel Page B

her gaze on some point beyond his shoulder. A moment passed before she said, “It pissed Jason off real good, Trent being Indian and all. About a month ago, Jason and two guys he hung out with waited outside for Trent to get home from work. They beat him up real bad.”
    Father John sat back against the wood chair, turning over in his mind what the girl had said. Shoshone man, missing four days. And out at the Bates Battlefield, three dead Indian men who might be Shoshone. Dear God, was it possible? Somebody had followed Trent Hunter around,waiting for a chance to kill him? Finally corralling him and two other men and shooting all of them? Then mistaking Father Owens for the Indian priest and sending a message to make certain the bodies were found?
    He tried to shake off the idea. He was catching the girl’s fear. It was like a virus. The bodies hadn’t been identified. There was no proof that they were Shoshone. No proof that Trent Hunter was dead.
    The answer was probably simple, straightforward, logical. It was possible—he didn’t like the idea—but it was possible that Trent had simply decided to disappear into the reservation. Maybe he’d had enough of the white world: classes, work, a pregnant, white girlfriend with a violent ex-boyfriend. Maybe he’d just walked away.
    And yet the girl could be right. Maybe it wasn’t like Trent Hunter to walk away.
    He said, “I think you should go to the Riverton Police.”
    â€œPolice?” Her voice rose in surprise. The blue eyes went large for an instant, then narrowed into slits of concentration. “Trent never wanted to call the police, even after Jason beat him up. He said the police don’t like Indians. They never side with Indians.”
    â€œListen, Edie.” Father John tried to catch the girl’s eyes, but they were darting about the office. “Trent could be hurt. He might have had an accident. His car could be off the road somewhere.” He was thinking about the pickup Burton had found at the battlefield. He hurried on. “I know a detective who will take his disappearance very seriously. He’ll check with the sheriff’s office. He won’t stop looking until he finds Trent.”
    He got to his feet, not waiting for a reply. Leaning across the desk, he picked up the receiver and tapped out the number to the Riverton Police Department. One ring, and an operator was on the other end. He gave his name and asked to speak to Detective Mike Perry.
    The girl pushed her thin body out of the chair, stumbling forward a little, shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know if I should go to the police.”
    â€œHey, Father John. How’s it going?” The detective’s voice boomed down the line.
    â€œHang on a minute,” Father John said. Then, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece he said, “I can go with you, Edie.”
    She stared at him a moment with bleary, hopeless eyes, then shrugged and turned away.
    He removed his hand and said, “I have a young woman here, Mike.” Then he told the detective that Edie Bradbury’s boyfriend had been missing since last Friday. His name was Trent Hunter, Shoshone, a student at the college. He’d had a couple of run-ins recently with a white supremacist, and he might be in trouble.
    The detective let out a little whistle. “Sounds like we better have a talk. How soon can she get over here.”
    â€œWe’re on the way.” Father John replaced the receiver and turned to the girl who had moved into the doorway, glancing between the office and corridor, the front edges of her coat bunched in one hand.
    â€œIt’s okay, Father,” she said. “I can do it.”

8
    THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING was suspended in quiet for a moment. The ringing phones, clack of Father Ian’s computer keys, banging doors, and boots shuffling in the corridor as people came for