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  Williams scanned a couple of the sheets and then handed them to Hawkman. “I vaguely remember this incident. Several years ago, he killed a man on the reservation in self-defense. The police never got involved as their chiefs handled it. If I remember correctly, the tribal commune banned him from the reservation. But we've obviously had no problems with him, as there's nothing here except those few pages."

  "Is there a chance I could get a copy of this picture?"

  "Sure.” Williams got up and went over to a copy machine in the corner.

  "Say,” Hawkman said, “you've come up in the world. When did they allow you that toy?"

  The detective laughed. “They presented it to me just last week. Said they were sick and tired of me jamming up the one down in the main lobby."

  He returned to his desk and handed the sheet of paper to Hawkman. “Now, tell me why all the interest in this guy. Does he have something to do with Parker?"

  "I'd say in a round about way. He might be Maryann's father."

  Williams’ mouth dropped open. “You mean he's Ms. Parker's lover?” He flopped back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion in just a few days, when the whole town of Yreka has wondered for years."

  Hawkman chuckled. “I'll never reveal my snitches."

  The detective leaned forward with a solemn expression. “You know I visited Lilly and her daughter a couple of days ago?"

  "Yes. I heard. Sam told me. What's your impression this time?"

  "Normal. Anytime police come into your home, people get nervous. First time I'd seen her daughter and she acted a little catty, but hell, she's just protecting her mom. So I didn't think too much about it.” He glanced at his calendar. “That reminds me. I have an appointment with Burke Parker's doctor this afternoon. You going to be around?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, how about being my unofficial helper. Of course, I can't pay you."

  Hawkman chuckled. “Have I ever been paid by this police force?"

  Williams furrowed his brow and studied the ceiling. “Yeah, several years ago. I think we paid you to help on a case. Can't remember which one though. I'd have to look it up."

  Hawkman grinned and waved a hand in the air. “Don't bother. What time do you go see the doctor?"

  "At three thirty. Oh, by the way, when did you grow the mustache?"

  "About time you noticed. I've had it for almost a year. You thought I'd gotten a hair cut."

  The detective guffawed. “That was during the Jamey Schyler-Gray debacle."

  "Yep.” Hawkman rose. “Well, I won't keep you any longer. I'll see you at three thirty. Thanks for the picture."

  "Let me know what you find out about that Indian. So far we haven't classified the Parker death as a homicide. But things could get sticky."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hawkman left the detective's office and climbed into the 4X4. He sat for a minute holding his cell phone, then decided to give Curly a call at home. If anyone knew about Maduk, he was the man. And he could probably give him more information on Burke Parker.

  Curly picked up on the second ring.

  "Hey, man. Have you quit screening your calls?"

  He laughed. “Hawkman, haven't heard from you in a long time. What are you up to?

  "If you're not busy, thought I'd drop by."

  "Never too busy for a buddy. You just get your butt right over here and we'll have a great cup of java."

  "Be there in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he thought about Curly's coffee. A brew so strong it'd grow hair on a bald man. He chuckled to himself as he drove away from the police station.

  Hawkman parked on the street in front of Curly's house, and strolled up the narrow sidewalk to the small front porch. Before he could ring the bell, Curly opened the door, greeting him with a big grin and hearty handshake.

  "So good to see you. Where've you been keeping yourself?"

  "Busy."

  "Come on in and tell me about it."

  Curly had lost his wife several years ago and now with his son Mark out on his own, the man must be lonely. Hawkman silently scolded himself for not stopping by the house or bar more often. “So how's business?"

  "Good, in fact, real good. Things have really boomed lately. Don't know what's caused the big upswing, but I ain't complainin'."

  "That's great, glad to hear it. Maybe it's because we've had a big influx of young people move into the area. Which is good news for everyone."

  "Yep.” Curly placed two mugs of steaming coffee on the table. “Now, I figure when you drop by the house at this hour, you need information. So, what can I do for you?” he asked, plopping down on a chair.

  Hawkman laughed. “Boy, do you have me pegged."

  Curly guffawed. “Known you long enough to have figured it out. So shoot and I'll see what I can tell ya."

  "Couple of questions. Did you know Burke Parker?"

  "He's the man they found dead in a motel room, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Didn't know him personally, but I had him thrown out of the bar a few times."

  Hawkman raised a brow. “Bad dude, huh?"

  Curly pointed a finger at him. “One of the worst kind. Couldn't hold his liquor. One drink sent him off his rocker."

  "In what way?"

  "Spouted off about his personal life and people got sick of hearing it. When someone told him to shut-up, he'd jump all over them. There'd be a big fight and I'd have to throw out several guys or they'd wreck my place. I hated to see that man enter the door. A guy like that just ain't good for business."

  "You say he talked about his personal life. In what way? Do you remember any particular event?"

  "Yeah, several.” Curly related similar stories that Harley had told.

  Hawkman shook his head. “Wonder what he thought he'd prove by going on like that? It did nothing but hurt the family image."

  Curly threw his hands in the air. “The man was a bum. I got the impression he didn't care a hoot about his wife or daughter."

  Hawkman sipped his coffee and drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know anything about a Native American called Madukarahat?"

  Curly reared back and shot him a look of surprise. “Whoa, you do jump from one type to another."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "He's one proud Indian. Walks straight and holds his head high. No one messes with him. Don't get me wrong. They used to try, but not any more."

  "Does he frequent your place?"

  "He's not a regular customer, if that's what you mean. He might drop in once a month and have a beer.” Curly cocked his head and looked Hawkman in the eye. “Why are you interested in this man?"

  "I'd like to talk to him. Do you have any idea where he lives?"

  Curly shook his head. “Not an inkling. He was banned from the Shasta reservation years ago for a killing a man. So I know he's not there. I have no idea where you can find him. In fact, I haven't seen him in a couple of months. Not even sure he's still in the area."

  "Do you know anything else about him?"

  "Nothing. Very quiet man. He didn't socialize. Sat in the corner when he had his beer and left quietly. You hardly knew he was there."

  Hawkman sighed and stood. “Thanks, Curly. Do me a favor. If he comes into your place some evening, give me a call immediately."

  "I'll do that."

  Hawkman left Curly's, then pulled off the side of the road and called Sam on his cell. He hoped the boy had charged his phone. “Hey, Sam. Are you at the Parker place or home?"

  "Home. I'm going to scrounge up some drop cloths for painting. Probably go there tomorrow. Why?"

  "Didn't want to talk to you if Maryann might be nearby. Need to ask you a few questions."

  "Yeah?"

  "Thought I'd do a little background study. What I need are the names of some of Maryann's teachers in high school. Four or five will do."

  "No problem, we were in several classes together.” Sam rattled
off several.

  Hawkman jotted them down on the pad of paper he kept on the dashboard. “That should do it. Thanks. Oh, if you'll look out in the garage, there's a box in the far right corner with some old sheets and a couple of plastic tarps. You're more than welcome to use them."

  "Thanks."

  After hanging up, Hawkman drove to his office. He might find some of the names listed in the phone book. After checking through the directory, he realized most teachers were unlisted, probably not wanting to take the chance of being pestered or harassed by students. Summer school would be in full swing now, so he might find some of them there.

  He checked his watch. Couldn't start the teacher search today, since he'd be meeting Detective Williams at the station in about an hour. It would be interesting to hear what the doctor has to say about Burke Parker's medical history. He just had enough time to grab a sandwich.

  * * * *

  Detective Williams and Hawkman entered Dr. Clevenger's waiting room a few minutes before the appointment. Williams spoke with the receptionist, and she glanced at a spiral notebook on her desk.

  She looked up at him over her reading glasses and forced a smile. “The doctor will be with you shortly. Please have a seat."

  Hawkman noticed everything in the office seemed in perfect order. They sat down on a comfortable couch upholstered in soft earth tones. The walls were painted in a pale green with a pleasing geometric design. Magazines were fanned neatly around a vase of freshly cut multicolored flowers on a small glass top coffee table in the center of the room. A healthy plant with large leaves stood tall and stately in the far corner.

  Soon, an older fellow strolled down the hallway, shrugging on a wind breaker and stopped at the receptionist desk. “He wants to see me again in two weeks."

  She flipped the pages of her appointment book, filled out a card and handed it to him. “See you then.” Waiting until the patient disappeared out the door, she stood and motioned toward Hawkman and Williams. “If you'll come with me, I'll take you back to Dr. Clevenger's office."

  The two men followed her through the small hall passing several examination rooms. At the end, she tapped on a closed door.

  "Come in."

  "Dr. Clevenger, Detective Williams and his assistant are here to see you."

  "Yes, I'm expecting the detective.” Still wearing his doctor's smock, a thin man around fifty-five with graying hair and a somber expression rose from the chair and extended his hand. “Detective Williams."

  "Hello, Dr. Clevenger, I'd like you to meet Private Investigator Tom Casey. He's working with me today."

  "Nice meeting you, Mr. Casey.” He waved a hand toward two chairs. “Won't you gentlemen please take a seat."

  Dr. Clevenger pulled a file from his side drawer and placed it on his desk. His gaze settled on Detective Williams. “I can't surrender Burke Parker's file without a court order. But maybe I can answer some of your questions."

  Williams nodded. “How long had you been seeing Parker?"

  The doctor opened the folder and glanced at the first page. “Almost eight years."

  "Did he have any major health issues?"

  The doctor frowned. “Yes, an enlarged heart, high blood pressure, and showing initial signs of diabetes. Mr. Parker didn't follow my instructions and I could see dangerous problems developing in the very near future. In fact, his death may have come prematurely due to his failure in taking his medications regularly or following his diet."

  Williams raised a brow. “Could he have overdosed?"

  The doctor sighed. “Unfortunately, yes, it could have happened. Some people tend to think more is better, which can be fatal. Or sometimes they forget they've already taken it and take double doses, equally as dangerous."

  "Did Parker have a drinking problem?"

  The doctor furrowed his forehead. “I suspected he drank more than he claimed. His abnormal blood work indicated liver damage; his puffy face and slightly jaundiced color suggested cirrhosis. But when I questioned him about his alcohol intake, he swore he only had a glass or two of wine at night, which he'd read was good for his heart."

  Hawkman raised a hand. “How did Parker pay his bill?"

  "He had to quit his job and go on disability due to his heart, but the fees for his medical services were always paid."

  "What medications did you prescribe?” Williams asked.

  The doctor checked through the papers and named the heart and blood pressure medications. “I'd just started him on his diabetes medicine and hoped he'd help control it with his diet and exercise. But I should have known better."

  Williams removed a paper from his pocket. “The medications you described were found in his room. The bottles have been sent to the lab for testing.” The detective stood. “Thank you for your time, doctor. We appreciate it."

  "Did you ever prescribe a tranquilizer?” Hawkman asked.

  Clevenger ran a finger down a couple of the pages, then shook his head. “No.” He glanced up. “Why?"

  "Just curious. Are you by chance Burke Parker's wife's physician also?"

  "No. I've never seen her."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "Why'd you ask about tranquilizers?” Williams asked, as they drove back to the station.

  "Just curious,” Hawkman said. “I've been doing a bit of research on medicines and alcohol. Booze reacts with a lot of them, especially therapeutic drugs. Mixing the two can be fatal. It's going to be interesting to see what they find in Parker's body."

  The detective pulled into the station lot and parked alongside Hawkman's 4X4. “So you're suggesting, it could definitely show foul play if those types were found in his system."

  Hawkman opened the passenger side door. “Not really. If he knew how to order over the internet, he could have purchased numerous medications rather easily.” He leaned against the fender of his vehicle as Williams locked the car. “At least we know where Parker got his money.” Hawkman raised a finger in the air. “By the way, does Clevenger have access to the coroner's report?"

  Williams shoved the car keys into his pocket. “If a physician isn't notified at the time of death, he could request to see it. As far as I know, Dr. Clevenger hasn't asked. Of course, he realized an autopsy would be done, regardless of whether we suspected foul play or not. But I gathered all he knew, or cared about was what he read in the paper."

  Hawkman nodded. “I got the same feeling."

  "Most private doctors don't like involvement with the police. Not good for business."

  Hawkman opened the driver's side door of his vehicle to let out the heat. “Keep me informed on the test results."

  "Will do,” the detective said, waving as he strolled toward the entry of the station.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Hawkman called the Yreka High School and discovered four of the six instructors Maryann had in high school were teaching during the summer session. He'd met each of them during Sam's high school years. If he managed to pull off a meeting, he'd have to be careful approaching Maryann's past, and avoid any reference to Burke Parker's death.

  Since classes ended at noon during summer school, he arrived early and sent a note to each of the teachers, asking if they could meet in the lounge at twelve-thirty. He emphasized its importance, promised a short meeting of thirty minutes, and signed it Tom Casey, Private Investigator. The curiosity of meeting with a P.I. might draw them in.

  At twelve-fifteen, Hawkman entered the teacher's lounge and rehearsed in his mind how he'd broach the subject. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the urn and waited.

  Before long, Mr. Phillips, the math teacher, entered and held out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Casey, it's been awhile since I've seen you. How's Sam doing?"

  "Just great. One more year and he'll be out of college. Doesn't seem possible does it?"

  Mr. Phillips shook his head. “It seems like he just graduated last year. Time really flies."

  "Thanks for coming. I appreciate it. I have a couple more teachers I'
ve asked to join us, then I'll explain my mission."

  "Sure, I'm in no hurry.” He flopped down on the couch and set his briefcase on the floor beside his feet.

  Hawkman turned toward the coffee urn, his back to Mr. Phillips, poured himself some more coffee, reached into his breast pocket and flipped on his voice activated recorder. “Want a cup?” He asked over his shoulder.

  "No, thanks. I'm coffeed out."

  Soon, Ms. Gardner, Mrs. Cross and Ms. Doyle meandered in, all shaking hands with Hawkman and asking about Sam.

  When they'd situated themselves around the room, Hawkman closed the door of the lounge and stood in front of the group. “I've been hired by a large firm back east to do a background study on several students including Maryann Parker. She's a very bright girl and they're looking at possibly offering her a position after she graduates from college. Maryann isn't aware of their interest, as they've been observing her from afar. That's why it's essential you keep this conversation only between the people in this room."

  "What sort of things do you need to know?” asked Mrs. Doyle.

  "Your honest opinion about this young woman. Is she reliable? Likable? Mostly personal stuff. They know how smart she is, so that's not what they're looking at right now. The person they want to hire has to be congenial."

  The four teachers glanced at each other. The women frowned and Mr. Phillips grimaced.

  Hawkman rubbed his mustache. “Looks like I hit a sore spot. So what's your opinion, Mr. Phillips?"

  "Truthfully, that girl had a hard time getting along with her peers. A beautiful young thing, but she had her problems. Smart, yes. But congenial, no. She never seemed happy."

  "Ms. Gardner?"

  "I agree with Mr. Phillips. Her conversations always had a cynical touch. Not only with her peers, but also with her teachers. She flaunted her intelligence and turned people off. I definitely liked the girl, but in my opinion she craved attention, just didn't know how to get it."

  "Mrs. Cross?"

  "I agree with both Ms. Gardner and Mr. Phillips. Maryann was a strange one. When I asked to have her folks come in for a conference her senior year, she wouldn't hear of it. Said they had nothing to do with her future. She'd handle her life and leave her folks out of it. I'm afraid the girl came from a dysfunctional family. And being an only child didn't help. She had no female friends, and came on strong in a suggestive manner toward the boys to the point of frightening many of them away."