people as individuals and there was no reason to lump them into categories. Shaw had a different problem with the swarming masses in his jurisdiction. People in West Hollywood were Koreans or Filipinos, or some other category that could be labeled.
Just like people in old folks' homes were senile. Policemen wouldn't bother questioning senile people. Chee hurried through his stew.
The legend on the door of the Silver Threads Rest Home declared that visiting hours were from 2 to 4 p.m. Chee glanced at his watch. It was not yet 8 a.m. He didn't bother to ring the bell. He walked back to the sidewalk and began strolling along the chain-link fence. On his third circuit, four old people had appeared on the east-facing porch, sitting in their mute and motionless row in their immobile wheelchairs. While Chee strolled, a red-faced boy wearing a white smock backed through the doorway with a fifth wheelchair in tow. It held a frail woman wearing thick-lensed glasses. Mr. Berger and his aluminum walking frame had not appeared. Chee continued his circumnavigation, turning up the alley and confirming that residents of the nursing home had a fine view of the apartments where the late Albert Gorman had lived—from the porch or from the lawn. On the next circuit, Berger appeared.
As Chee rounded the corner that brought him past the east porch, the old man was shuffling his way toward the fence, moving the walker, leaning on it, then bringing his legs along. Chee stopped at the fence at the point for which Berger was aiming. He waited, turning his back to the fence and to the old man's struggle. Be hind him he could hear Berger's panting breath.
'Sons a bitches,' the man was saying. Describing, Chee guessed, either the nursing home staff or his own recalcitrant legs. Chee heard Berger place the walker beside the fence and sigh and grunt as he dragged his legs under him. Only then did he turn.
'Good to see you, Mr. Berger,' Chee said. 'I was hoping I wouldn't have to wait for visiting hours.'
'Coming to see…' The surprise was in the tone before Berger's tongue balked at the rest of it. His face twisted with the struggle, turning slightly red.
'I wanted to talk to you some more about Gorman,' Chee said. 'I remember you asked me if he was in trouble, and as a matter of fact he was in very deep trouble, so I thought maybe you had some idea of what was going on.' Chee was careful not to phrase it as more than an implied question.
Mr. Berger opened his mouth slightly. Made a wry expression.
'He might have been in worse trouble than he knew. Somebody followed him from here to Shiprock. In New Mexico. On the Navajo Reservation. They shot each other, Gorman and this guy. Gorman killed the man. And then Gorman died himself.'
Berger looked down at his hands, gripping the metal frame of the walker. He shook his head.
'We don't know why anyone would have wanted to kill Gorman,' Chee said. 'Doesn't seem to be any reason for it. Did Gorman tell you anything that would help?'
Berger's white head rose. He looked at Chee, drew a deep and careful breath, closed his eyes, concentrated.
'Man came,' he said.
Chee waited.
Berger struggled, gave up. 'Shit,' Berger said.
'Would it help if I fill in the gaps? I'm going to guess at some of it. And if I'm wrong you shake your head and I'll stop. Or I'll try another guess.'
Berger nodded.
'A man came to see Gorman, here at the apartment.'
Berger nodded.
'The day before Gorman left for New Mexico?'
Berger took his hands from the walker, held them about a foot apart, moved them together.
'Less than that,' Chee said. 'The night before Gorman left.'
Berger nodded.
'You saw him?'
Berger nodded. He pointed to Gorman's apartment. Then indicated height and breadth.
'A big man,' Chee said. 'Very big?'
Berger agreed.
'How old?'
Berger struggled with that. Chee held up his hands, flashed ten fingers, another ten, stopped. Berger signaled thirty, hesitated, added ten.
'Maybe forty,' Chee said. 'Another Navajo?'
Berger canceled that, pointing to his own hair.
'White,' Chee said. 'Blond?'
Berger nodded.
'A big blond man came here just before Gorman left for New Mexico,' Chee said. Lerner, he was thinking, was neither big nor blond. 'Had you seen him before?'
Berger had.
'Often?'
