“I wasn’t that interested, to tell the truth,” she said. “You know, it seems pretty mean to me that they still have you working on this when your hand’s like that. You should be on sick leave.”
“Actually, I am,” Chee said. “I’m doing this on my own time.”
Jacobs lowered her chin, peering at him over her reading glasses, her smooth, round face furrowed by a frown. “Why? Why are you doing it?”
“I’m curious,” Chee said. “I just want to find out how Hosteen Pinto got out there, and what he was doing. Things like that. It doesn’t really need to be done. Not for the trial. Pinto doesn’t even deny he killed Delbert. I’m just doing it because I don’t have anything else to do. And nobody else gives a damn.”
“Somebody else is doing it, too,” Jacobs said.
“What? Who?”
“I got a call a couple of days ago. From a Navajo tribal policeman in Window Rock. He wanted to talk to Tagert. Wanted to know where he could find him.”
“Who was it? You sure it was a Navajo tribal policeman? Not the FBI? Or maybe an investigator from the Federal Public Defender’s office.”
“It was from Window Rock. He said Navajo Tribal Police.”
“What was the name?”
“A funny name. I don’t remember. I remember he was a lieutenant.”
“Leaphorn!”
“That was it,” Jacobs said. “Lieutenant Leaphorn. Do you know him?”
Chee was thinking. He came to the only possible conclusion. “That son-of-a-bitch,” he said.
Jacobs looked startled at the bitterness. She looked away, picked up a pen. Put it down.
“Sorry,” Chee said.
“It sounds like you know him. Is he your boss?”
“I know him. No, he’s not my boss.”
“He just asked if Tagert was here. If I knew where to find him.” She studied Chee. “Is it bad?”
“No,” Chee said. “I don’t know. It’s just?”
He sighed. “You don’t want to hear all this,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
“It’s more than curiosity with me,” he began, and told her about his radio conversation with Nez, the fading in and out, the nut who painted basalt, the laughter that led him to fail his friend. He told her of arresting Pinto. He told her about Janet Pete back from Washington taking the Federal Public Defender’s job and representing Pinto.
“I know she was assigned to do it. It’s her job. But Janet lets me know she halfway believes Pinto didn’t do it. She sees a lot of unanswered questions. What’s his motive, she says. He was drunk, and he’d killed someone before when he was drunk and served time for it. And he was caught red-handed and doesn’t even deny it. But for her, that’s not enough.” Chee shook his head.
“You think it would be kinda nice if it was enough just because you were the one who nabbed him,” Jacobs said. “But you’ve got to consider she’s his defense attorney. And she’s a woman in a field men have dominated. And so she feels like she’s got something to prove. At least I would. Maybe she feels like she has to prove something to you, too.” Jacobs made a wry face. “You know, you’ve been a cop awhile. Into law enforcement. She’s brand new at the game.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just talking.”
“You are missing the implication,” Chee said. He stood up. His voice had sounded stiff, but to hell with it. This woman felt like listening. He felt like letting some of this anger out. “You see, I screwed up on this. If I hadn’t screwed up, I would have been there when Nez was making this arrest?or whatever he was doing?and he wouldn’t have been killed. But I was over in Red Rock drinking coffee, thinking all was good because I heard Delbert laughing.”
He was standing with his arms hanging by his side. That made his hand hurt. He folded his arms.
“But I did get there. Too late to help Delbert, but I got there in time to catch the man who killed him. I was a good enough cop for that.”
Jacobs was silent for a while, thinking about it, her face full of sympathy. She was a talented listener. He had noticed it before. When you talked to this woman, she attended. She had all her antennae out, focused on the speaker. The world was shut out. Nothing mattered but the words she was hearing. Listening was ingrained in the Navajo culture. One didn’t interrupt. One waited until the speaker was finished, gave him a moment or two to consider additions, or footnotes or amendments, before one responded. But even Navajos too often listened impatiently. Not really listening, but framing their reply. Jean Jacobs really listened. It was flattery, and Chee knew it, but it had its effect.
“I can see why you’d want to find Tagert. I can see why you’d want to make sure.”
“Sure!” Chee said it louder than he intended. “I am sure. How sure can I be? The killer at the scene, drunk, with the smoking gun. He doesn’t even deny it. How goddamn sure can you be?”
“It sounds sure to me,” Jacobs said.
“And the FBI is happy. They took it to the federal grand jury, and got the indictment. They’re ready for trial.”
“This Lieutenant Leaphorn, is he?”
“A vote of no confidence,” Chee said.
