Mrs. Vanders was studying him. 'Mr. Leaphorn,' she said, 'I asked you to come here because I hope you will agree to do something for me.'
'I might agree,' Leaphorn said. 'What would it be?'
'Everything has to be completely confidential,' Mrs. Vanders said. 'You would communicate only to me Not to my lawyers. Not to anyone else.'
Leaphorn considered this, sampled the coffee again, Put down the cup. 'Then I might not be able to help you.' Mrs. Vanders looked surprised. 'Why not?'
'I've spent most of my life being a policeman,' Leaphorn said. 'If what you have in mind causes me to discover anything illegal, then—'
'If that happened, I would report it to the authorities,' she said rather stiffly.
Leaphorn allowed the typical Navajo moments of silence to make certain that Mrs. Vanders had said all she wanted to say. She had, but his lack of response touched a nerve.
'Of course I would,' she added. 'Certainly.'
'But if you didn't for some reason, you understand that I would have to do it. Would you agree to that?'
She stared at Leaphorn. Then she nodded. 'I think we are creating a problem where none exists.'
'Probably,' Leaphorn said.
'I would like you to locate a young woman. Or, failing that, discover what happened to her.'
She gestured toward the folder. Leaphorn opened it. The top picture was a studio portrait of a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman wearing a mortarboard. The face was narrow and intelligent, the expression somber. Not a girl who would have been called 'cute,' Leaphorn thought. Nor pretty either, for that matter. Handsome, perhaps. Full of character. Certainly it would be an easy face to remember. The next picture was of the same woman, wearing jeans and a jean jacket now, leaning on the door of a Pickup truck and looking back at the camera. She had the look of an athlete, Leaphorn thought, and was older in this one. Perhaps in her early thirties. On the back of each photograph the same name was written: Catherine Anne.
Leaphorn glanced at Mrs. Vanders.
'My niece,' she said. 'The only child of my late sister.'
Leaphorn returned the photos to the folder and »ok out a sheaf of papers, clipped together. The top one ad biographical details.
Catherine Anne Pollard was the full name. The birth-ate made her thirty-three, the birthplace was Arlington, Virginia, the current address Flagstaff, Arizona.
'Catherine studied biology,' Mrs. Vanders said. 'She specialized in mammals and insects. She was working r the Indian Health Service, but actually I think it's ore for the Arizona Health Department. The environment division. They call her a ‘vector control specialist.' I imagine you would know about that?'
Leaphorn nodded.
Mrs. Vanders made a wry face. 'She says they actually call her a 'fleacatcher.'
'I think she could have had a good career as a tennis player. On the tour, you know. She always loved orts. Soccer, striker on the college volleyball team, hen she was in junior high school she worried about being bigger than the other girls. I think excelling in orts was her compensation for that.' Leaphorn nodded again.
'The first time she came to see me after she got this, I asked for her job title, and she said 'fleacatcher.'' Vanders's expression was sad. 'Called herself that, I guess she doesn't mind.'
'It's an important job,' Leaphorn said.
'She wanted a career in biology. But 'fleacatcher'?' Mrs. Vanders shook her head. 'I understand that she and some others were working on the source of those bubonic plague cases this spring. They have a little laboratory in Tuba City and check places where the victims might have picked up the disease. Trapping rodents.' Mrs. Vanders hesitated, her face reflecting distaste. 'That's the flea catching. They collect the fleas from them. And take samples of their blood. That sort of thing.' She dismissed this with a wave of the hand.
'Then last week, early in the morning, she went to work and never came back.'
She let that hang there, her eyes on Leaphorn.
'She left for work alone?'
'Alone. That's what they say. I'm not so sure.'
Leaphorn would come back to that later. Now he needed basic facts. Speculation could wait.
'Went to work where?'
'The man I called said she just stopped by the office to pick up some of the equipment she uses in her work and then drove away. To someplace out in the country where she was trapping rodents.'
'Was she meeting anyone where she was going to be working?'
'Apparently not. Not officially anyway. The man I talked to didn't think anyone went with her.'
'And you think something has happened to her. Have you discussed this with the police?'
'Mr. Peabody discussed it with people he knows in the FBI. He said they would not be involved in something like this. They would have jurisdiction only if it involved a kidnapping for ransom, or'—she hesitated, glanced down at her hands—'or some other sort of felony. They told Mr. Peabody there would have to be evidence that a federal law had been violated.'
'What evidence was there?' He was pretty sure he knew the answer. It would be none. Nothing at all.
Mrs. Vanders shook her head.
