my new pot to my friends. I tell them not just of the Anasazi civilization, but of murder and a missing woman.' He grinned a small, prim grin, showing small, perfect teeth.
Leaphorn sipped his coffee. Hot, fresh, excellent. The china was translucent. To the right of DuMont a row of high windows lined the wall. The light coming through them was dim, tinted green by the vines that covered them. Rain streamed down the glass.
'Did I make my point?' DuMont said.
'I think so,' Leaphorn said.
'Tit for tat. You want information from me. In exchange it seems to me only fair that you give me my story. The story to go with my pot.'
'I did,' Leaphorn said.
DuMont raised two white hands, fluttered them. 'Details, details, details,' he said. 'All the bloody details. The details to pass along.'
Leaphorn told him the details. How the bodies were found. How the men had been killed. Who they were. He described the scene. He described the bones. DuMont listened, rapt.
'a?S and there we are,' Leaphorn concluded. 'No leads, really. Our missing woman might be a lead to the killer. More likely she's another victim. But it's all vague. We know just that she was interested in the same pots. Just that she's missing.'
Edgar had returned early in this account and stood beside DuMont, holding a pot and a manila folder. The pot was small, about the size of a man's head. A little larger than DuMont's skull.
'Hand the pot to Mr. Leaphorn,' DuMont said. 'And the documents, please.'
Edgar did so. And stood there, stooped and gray, his presence making Leaphorn edgy. Why didn't the man sit down? Leaphorn placed the pot carefully on the table, noticing the smooth feel of the glazing, aware that it had nothing to tell him. He opened the folder.
It contained what appeared to be two bills of sale, one from Harrison Houk to Nelson's and one from Nelson's to DuMont, and a form with its blanks filled in by an awkward hand. It was signed by Jimmy Etcitty.
Leaphorn checked the date. The previous June. He checked the space marked 'Place of recovery.' The entry read:
About eight or ten miles down San Juan from Sand Island. From mouth of canyon on north side of river go up the canyon about five and a half miles to the place where there are three ruins on the left side of the canyon at a low level. Right there by the lower ruin are a bunch of pictures of Anasazi yei figures and one looks like a big baseball umpire holding up a pink chest protector. On the north side of the canyon one of the ruins is built against the cliff on the shelf above the canyon bottom. Above it on the higher shelf there is a cave under the cliff with a ruin built in it, and above that in a smaller cave there is another ruin. All these ruins are on private land under lease to my friend Harrison Houk of Bluff, Utah. This pot came from a trench beside the south wall of the ruin against the cliff. It was faceup, with three other pots, all broken, and a skeleton, or part of a skeleton. When found, the pot had nothing but dirt in it.
Leaphorn was surprised at the intensity of his disappointment. It was exactly what he should have expected. He checked the other blanks and found nothing interesting. DuMont was watching him, grinning.
'A problem?'
'A little case of lying,' Leaphorn said.
'Just what Dr. Friedman said.' DuMont chuckled. 'False, false, false.'
'You talked to Dr. Friedman?'
'Just like this,' DuMont said, delighted with Leaphorn's amazement. 'Your missing lady was right here. In that same chair. Edgar, was she drinking from the same cup?'
'I have no idea, sir,' Edgar said.
'Same questions, anyway.' DuMont gestured. 'Fascinating.'
'How did she find you?'
'As you did, I presume. Through Nelson's. She called, and identified herself, and made an appointment.'
Leaphorn didn't comment. He was remembering her note. 'Call Q!' Ellie seemed to have had a pipeline into the auction house that got her past Ms. Marcy.
'She said the certification was false? The location?'
'She said that canyon isn't where Mra?S Mr. --'
'Etcitty,' Edgar said.
'Where Mr. Etcitty said it was.' DuMont laughed. 'Running the wrong way, she said. Too far down the river. Things like that.'
'She was right,' Leaphorn said. If that false location had an effect on DuMont's five-thousand-dollar pot, it had no effect on his humor. He was grinning his small white grin.
'She was quite upset,' he said. 'Disappointed. Are you?'
'Yes,' Leaphorn said. 'But I shouldn't be. It's exactly what I should have expected.'
'Edgar has made you a copy of that,' DuMont said. 'To take with you.'
'Thank you,' Leaphorn said. He pushed himself out of the chair. He wanted to get out of this room. Away. Out into the clean rain.
'And Edgar will give you my card,' DuMont said from behind him. 'Call me with all the details. When you find her body.'
Chapter Thirteen
T ^ t
