Leaphorn didn't recognize him, and probably a special agent in charge, since he had come to take credit for whatever discoveries had been made in an affair that produced the sort of headlines upon which the Bureau fed.
'The evidence the FBI has collected makes it clear that this crime was not only a murder done in the commission of a felony, which would make it a capital crime under the old law, but that it fits the intent of Congress in the passage of the legislation allowing the death penalty for such crimes committed on federal reservations.' Mickey paused, looked at his notes, adjusted his glasses. 'We didn't decide to seek the death penalty casually,' Mickey continued. 'We considered the problem confronting the Navajo Tribal Police, and the police of the Hopis and Apaches and all the other reservation tribes, and the same problems shared by the police of the various states. These men and women patrol vast distances, alone in their patrol cars, without the quick backup assistance that officers in the small, more populous states can expect. Our police are utterly vulnerable in this situation, and their killers have time to be miles away before help can arrive. I have the names of the officers who have been killed in just—'
Leaphorn switched off the mortality list and ducked back into the shower. He had known several of those men. Indeed, six of them were Navajo policemen. And it was a story that needed to be told. So why did he resent hearing Mickey tell it? Because Mickey was a hypocrite. He decided to skip breakfast and wait for Chee at the police station.
Chee's car was already in the parking lot, and Acting Lieutenant Chee was sitting behind his desk, looking downcast and exhausted. He looked up from the file he was reading and forced a smile.
'I'll just ask a couple of questions and then I'll be out of here,' Leaphorn said. 'The first one is, do you have a report yet from the crime scene people? Did they list what they found in the Jeep?'
'This is it,' Chee said, waving the file. 'I just got it.'
'Oh,' Leaphorn said.
'Sit down,' Chee said. 'Let me see what's in it.' Leaphorn sat, holding his hat in his lap. It reminded him of his days as a rookie cop, waiting for Captain Largo to decide what to do with him.
'No fingerprints except the radio thief,' Chee said. 'I think I already told you that. Good wiping job. There were prints on the owner's manual in the glove box, presumed to be Catherine Pollard's.' He glanced up at Leaphorn, turned a page and resumed reading. 'Here's the list of items found in the Jeep,' he said, and handed it across the desk to Leaphorn. 'I didn't see anything interesting on it.'
It was fairly long. Leaphorn skipped the items in the glove box and door pockets and started with the backseat. There the team had found three filter-tip Kool cigarette butts, a Baby Ruth candy wrapper, a thermos containing cold coffee, a cardboard box containing fourteen folded metal rodent traps, eight larger prairie dog traps, two shovels, rope, and a satchel that contained five pairs of latex gloves and a variety of other items that, while the writer could only guess at their technical titles, were obviously the tools of the vector control trade.
Leaphorn looked up from the list. Chee was watching him.
'Did you notice the spare tire, the jack and the tire tools were all missing?' Chee asked. 'I guess our radio thief didn't limit himself to that and the battery.'
'This is all of it?' Leaphorn asked. 'Everything that they found in the Jeep?'
'That's it,' Chee said, frowning. 'Why?'
'Krause said she always carried a respirator suit in the Jeep with her.'
'A what?'
'They call 'em PAPRS,' Leaphorn said. 'For Positive Air Purifying Respirator Suit. They look a little like what the astronauts wear, or the people who make computer chips.'
'Oh,' Chee said. 'Maybe she left it at her motel. We can check if you think it's important.'
The telephone on Chee's desk buzzed. He picked it up, said, 'Yes.' Said, 'Good, that's a lot faster than I expected.' Said, 'Sure, I'll hold.'
He put his hand over the receiver. 'They've got the report on the bloodwork.'
Leaphorn said: 'Fine,' but Chee was listening again. 'That's the right number of days,' Chee told the telephone, and listened again, frowned, said: 'It wasn't? Then what the hell was it?' Listened again, then said: 'Well, thanks a lot.'
He put down the telephone.
'It wasn't human blood,' Chee said. 'It was from some sort of rodent. He said he'd guess it was from a prairie dog.'
Leaphorn leaned back in his chair. 'Well now,' he said.
'Yeah,' Chee said. He tapped his fingers on the desktop a moment, then picked up the telephone, punched a button and said: 'Hold any calls for a while, please.'
'Did you see the dried blood on the seat?' Leaphorn asked.
'I did.'
'How'd it look? I mean, had it been spilled there, or smeared on, or maybe an injured prairie dog had been put there, or dripped, or what?'
'I don't know,' Chee said. 'I know it didn't look like somebody had been stabbed, or shot, and bled there. It didn't really look natural—like what you expect to see at a homicide scene.' He grimaced. 'It looked more like it had been poured out on the edge of the leather seat. Then it had run down the side and a little onto the floor.'
'She would have had access to blood,' Leaphorn said. 'Yeah,' Chee said. 'I thought of that.'
'Why do it?' Leaphorn laughed. 'It suggests she didn't have a very high opinion of the Navajo Tribal Police.'
Chee looked surprised, saw the point. 'You mean we'd just take for granted it was her blood and wouldn't check.' He shook his head. 'Well, it could happen. And then we'd be looking for her body instead of for her.'
