And the sun had now risen far enough to illuminate a different set of snowfields high above them on Ship Rock. They reflected a dazzling white light.
Officer Manuelito was watching him. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. “Tse? Bitai?. It never seems to look the same.”
“I remember noticing that when I was a little boy and I was staying for a while with an aunt over near Toadlena,” Chee said. “I thought it was alive.”
Officer Manuelito was staring at it. “Beautiful,” she said, and shuddered. “I wonder what he was doing up there. All alone.”
“The Fallen Man?”
“Deejay doesn’t think he fell. He said no bones were broken and if you’d fallen down that cliff it would break something. Deejay thinks he was climbing with somebody and they just stranded him there.”
“Who knows?” Chee said. “Anyway, it’s not in the books as anything but an accidental death. No evidence of foul play. We don’t have to worry about it.” Chee’s feet were telling him that his boots were leaking. Leaking ice water. “Let’s go,” he said, heading back for his truck.
Officer Manuelito was still standing there, staring up at the cliffs towering above her.
“They say Monster Slayer couldn’t get down either. When he climbed up to the top and killed the Winged Monster he couldn’t get down.”
“Come on,” Chee said. He climbed into the truck and started the engine, thinking that you’d have a better chance if you were a spirit like Monster Slayer. When spirits scream for help other spirits hear them. Spider Woman had heard and came to the rescue. But Harold Breedlove could have called forever with nothing but the ravens to hear him. The stuff of bad dreams.
They drove in silence.
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Then Officer Manuelito said, “To be trapped up there. I try not to even think about it. It would give me nightmares.”
“What?” Chee said, who hadn’t been listening because by then he was working his way around a nightmare of his own. He was trying to think of another reason Janet Pete might have asked him about the Fallen Man affair. He wanted to find a reason that didn’t involve John McDermott and his law firm representing the Breedlove family. Maybe it was the oddity of the skeleton on the mountain that provoked her question. He always came back to that. But then he’d find himself speculating on who had taken Janet to that concert and he’d think of John McDermott again.
10
THE FIRST THING JOE LEAPHORN NOTICED
when he came through the door was his breakfast dishes awaiting attention in the sink. It was a bad habit and it demanded correction. No more of this sinking into slipshod widower ways. Then he noticed the red light blinking atop his telephone answering machine. The indicator declared he’d received two calls today—pretty close to a post-retirement record. He took a step toward the telephone.
But no. First things first. He detoured into the kitchen, washed his cereal bowl, saucer, and spoon, dried them, and put them in their place on the dish rack. Then he sat in his recliner, put his boots on the footstool, picked up the telephone, and pushed the button.
The first call was from his auto insurance dealer, informing him that if he’d take a defensive driving course he could get a discount on his liability rates. He punched the button again.
“Mr. Leaphorn,” the voice said. “This is John McDermott. I am an attorney and our firm has represented the interests of the Edgar Breedlove family for many years. I remember that you investigated the disappearance of Harold Breedlove several years ago when you were a member of the Navajo Tribal Police. Would you be kind enough to call me, collect, and discuss whether you might be willing to help the family complete its own investigation of his death?” McDermott had left an Albuquerque number. Leaphorn dialed it.
“Oh, yes,” the secretary said. “He was hoping you’d call.”
After the “thank you for calling,” McDermott didn’t linger long over formalities.
“We would like you to get right onto this for us,” he said. “If you’re available, our usual rate is twenty-five dollars an hour, plus your expenses.”
“You mentioned completing the investigation,” Leaphorn said. “Does that mean you have some question about the identification of the skeleton?”
“There is a question concerning just about everything,” McDermott said. “It is a very peculiar case.”
“Could you be more specific? I need a better idea of what you’d like to find out.”
“This isn’t the sort of thing we can discuss over the telephone,” McDermott said. “Nor is it the sort of thing I can talk about until I know whether you will accept a retainer.” He produced a chuckle. “Family business, you know.” Leaphorn discovered he was allowing himself to be irritated by the tone of this—not a weakness he tolerated. And he was curious.
He produced a chuckle of his own.
“From what I remember of the Breedlove disappearance, I don’t see how I could help you. Would you like me to recommend someone?”
“No. No,” McDermott said. “We’d like to use you.”
“But what sort of information would I be looking for?” Leaphorn asked. “I was trying to find out what happened
