The Dark Wind

'I can't tell you much about that,' Largo said. 'Just a little.'

'You don't need to tell me much,' Chee said. 'I would say that the narcs don't think it was a coincidence that I was out there by the wash when the plane landed. They think I was really out there to meet the plane and that me and waffle soles and cowboy boots hauled off the drug shipment—or whatever it was. Spent the missing fifty minutes loading the stuff. That about it?'

'Just about,' Largo said mildly.

'There's more?'

'Nothing much,' Largo said. 'Nothing they exactly told me.'

'But something that makes them suspicious of me?'

'Makes 'em suspicious of somebody local,' Largo said. 'I get an impression that the Drug Enforcement Agency don't think that shipment got hauled very far. They think it's hidden around there someplace close.'

Chee frowned. 'How would they know that?'

'How does the dea know anything?' Largo asked. 'I think they got about half of the drug smuggling industry on their payroll. Ratting for them.'

'Seems like it,' Chee said.

'And then they do a hell of a lot of guessing,' Largo added.

'I noticed that, too,' Chee said.

'Like about you helping haul away the shipment.'

'You think that was a bad guess?'

'Most likely,' Largo said.

'Thanks,' Chee said. 'Johnson tell you who was in the plane?'

'I gather the pilot was somebody they know. One of the regulars who flies stuff in from Mexico for one of the big outfits. Fellow named Pauling. I don't think they have an identification on the passenger yet. The guy on the ground, the guy who got shot, his name was Jerry Jansen. Lawyer from Houston. Supposed to be in the narcotics business.'

'I didn't move him,' Chee said. 'Shot, was he?'

'In the back,' Largo said.

'It looks simple enough,' Chee said. 'A plane's hauling in dope. Somebody comes in a vehicle to accept the delivery, right? Only the plane crashes. Two of the guys receiving the shipment decide to steal it. They shoot their partner in the back, leave a note to the owners, or maybe the buyers, to tell them how to make contact to buy their stuff back. Then they haul it away. Right? But the dea doesn't seem to think the shipment got hauled out. They think it's hidden out there somewhere. Right?'

'That's what Johnson seemed to be thinking,' Largo said.

'Now why would they think that?' Chee asked.

Largo was looking out his window. He seemed not to have heard the question. But finally he said, 'I'd guess the dea had this shipment wired. I think they had themselves an informer in the right place.'

Chee nodded. 'Yeah,' he said. 'But for some reason beyond the understanding of this poor Indian, the dea didn't want to move in and grab the plane and arrest everyone.'

Largo was still looking out the window. He glanced back at Chee. 'Hell,' he said. 'Who knows. The feds work in strange and mysterious ways and they don't explain things to the Navajo Tribal Police.' He grinned. 'Especially they don't when they think maybe a Navajo Tribal Policeman got off with the evidence.'

'Makes you curious,' Chee said.

'It does,' Largo said. 'I think I'll do some asking around.'

'I'm thinking about that card,' Chee said. 'That could be why the feds think the shipment's still around here. Why else would the hijacker do his dealing through the Hopi motel? Why not contact 'em in Houston, or wherever they operate?'

'I wondered when that was going to occur to you,' Largo said. 'If Jim Chee stole the shipment, he wouldn't know how to get in touch with the owners. So Jim Chee would leave a note telling them how to contact him.'

'Thinking the press would report the note? Is that what I'd think? Wouldn't it occur to me that maybe the dea would keep the note secret?'

'It might,' Largo said. 'But if you thought of that, you'd be smart enough to know they'd have lawyers nosing around. Whoever owned that plane has a legal, legitimate interest in that crash. They'd ask to see the investigating officer's report, and we'd show it to them. So Jim Chee would be sure to put what it said on the card in his report. Like you did.'

Jim Chee, who actually hadn't thought of that at all, nodded. 'Pretty slick of Jim Chee,' he said.

'Got a call about forty-five minutes ago,' Largo said. 'From Window Rock. Your buddy did it again. To the windmill.'

'Last night?' Chee's tone was incredulous. 'After the crash?'

Largo shrugged. 'Joint Use Office called Window Rock. All I know is somebody screwed up the machinery again and Window Rock wants it stopped.'

Chee was speechless. He started for the door, then stopped. Largo was standing behind his desk, reading something in Chee's folder. He was a short man with the barrel-chested, hipless shape common among western Navajos, and his round face was placid as he read. Chee felt respect for him. He wasn't sure he would like him.