Skinwalkers

'Mr. Bistie,' Silk Shirt said. 'I am Janet Pete. We were told you needed legal counsel and the DNA sent me over to represent you. To be your lawyer.'

Bistie nodded to her. 'Ya-tah-hey,' he said. He looked at Chee. Nodded. Smiled. 'I don't need no lawyer,' he said. 'They told me somebody else killed the son-of-a-bitch. I missed him.' Bistie chuckled when he said it, but to Chee he still looked sick.

'You need a lawyer to tell you to be careful what you say,' Janet Pete said, glancing at Chee. And then, to Langer: 'And we need a place where my client and I can talk. In private.'

'Sure,' Langer said. He handed Bistie the sack and pointed. 'Down the hall. First door to the left.'

'Miss Pete,' Chee said. 'When you're talking to your client, would you ask him if I can talk to him for a minute or two? Otherwise…'

'Otherwise what?'

'Otherwise I'll have to drive all the way up into the Lukachukais to his place and talk to him there,' Chee said meekly. 'And just to ask three or four questions I forgot to ask him earlier.'

'I'll see,' Janet Pete said, and disappeared down the hall after Bistie.

Chee looked out the window. The lawn needed water. What was it about white men that caused them to plant grass in places where grass couldn't possibly grow without them fiddling with it all the time? Chee had thought about that a lot, and talked to Mary Landon about it. He'd told Mary he thought it represented a subconscious need to remind themselves that they could defy nature. Mary said no, it wasn't need for remembered beauty. Chee looked at the lawn, and at the desert country visible across the San Juan beyond it. He preferred the desert. Today even the fringe of tumbleweeds along the sidewalk looked wilted. Dry heat everywhere and the sky almost cloudless.

'I didn't tell her you'd asked me to stall,' Langer said, apologetically. 'She figured that out for herself.'

'Oh, well,' Chee said. 'I don't think she likes cops, anyway.' A thought materialized abruptly. 'You remember what was in Bistie's sack?'

Langer looked surprised at the question. He shrugged. 'Usual stuff. Billfold. Keys to his truck. Pocket knife. One of those little deerskin sacks some of you guys carry. Handkerchief. Nothing unusual.'

'Did you look in the billfold?'

'We have to inventory the money,' Langer said. He sorted through papers on a clipboard. 'Had a ten and three ones and seventy-three cents in change. Driver's license. So forth.'

'Anything else you remember?'

'I didn't check him in,' Langer said. 'Al did. On the evening shift. Says here: 'Nothing else of value.''

Chee nodded.

'What you looking for?'

'Just fishing,' Chee said.

'Speaking of which,' Langer said, 'can you get a permit for fishing up there at Wheatfields Lake? Free, I mean.'

'Well,' Chee said. 'I guess you know—'

Janet Pete appeared at the hall door. 'He says he'll talk to you.'

'I thank you,' Chee said.

The room held a bare wooden table and two chairs. Roosevelt Bistie sat in one of them, eyes half closed, face sagging. But he returned Chee's salutation. Chee put his hand on the back of the other chair, glanced at Janet Pete. She was leaning against the wall behind Bistie, watching Chee. The paper sack was under Bistie's chair.

'Could we talk in private?' Chee asked her.

'I'm Mr. Bistie's legal counsel,' she said. 'I'll stay.'

Chee sat down, feeling defeated. It had never been likely that Bistie would talk. He hadn't, after all, in the past. It was even less likely that he would talk about the subject Chee intended to raise, which was witchcraft. There was a simple enough reason for that. Witches hated to be talked about—to even have their evil business discussed. Therefore the prudent Navajo discussed witchcraft, if at all, only with those known and trusted. Not with a stranger. Certainly not with two strangers. However, there was no harm in trying.

'I have heard something which I think you would like to know,' Chee said. 'I will tell you what I heard. And then I will ask you a question. I hope you will give me an answer. But if you won't, you won't.'

Bistie looked interested. So did Janet Pete.

'First,' Chee said, speaking slowly, intent on Bistie's expression, 'I will tell you what the people over at the Badwater Wash Trading Post hear. They hear that a little piece of bone was found in the body of that man you took a shot at.'

There was a lag of a second or two. Then Bistie smiled a very slight smile. He nodded at Chee.

Chee glanced at Janet Pete. She looked puzzled. 'Understand that I do not know if this is true,' Chee said. 'I will go to the hospital where the body of that man was taken and I will try to find out if it was true. Should I tell you what I find out?'

No smile now. Bistie was studying Chee's face. But he nodded.

'Now I have a question for you to answer. Do you have a little piece of bone?'

Bistie stared at Chee, face blank.

'Don't answer that,' Janet Pete said. 'Not until I find out what's going on here.' She frowned at Chee. 'What's