“Professor Bourebonette told me.”
“I don’t believe it,” Chee said. “When did she say that? And why would she say anything like that?”
“At the roadblock. She and Lieutenant Leaphorn came through about an hour or so after you -' Bernie hesitated, seeking a way to describe Chee’s arrival. “After you were there. They stopped and talked a while. That’s when she said it. She asked me if you had come by, and I said yes, and she asked me what you’d said, and I said nothing much. And she acted surprised, and I asked why, and she said you’d gotten all angry and excited when they told you they’d seen me at the roadblock and ran right out and drove away.”
Chee was still trying to read her expression. Was it fond, or amused? Or both.
“I didn’t say you were incompetent.”
Officer Manuelito said, “Well, OK,” and shrugged.
“I just thought it was too dangerous. Those guys had already shot two cops, and shot at another one, and the Ironhand guy, he’d killed a lot more in Vietnam.”
“Well, thanks then.' Manuelito’s expression was easy to read now. She was smiling at him.
“The captain said for you to rush that report right back to him,” Chee said, and held out his hand.
She gave it to him, secured to a clipboard with a pen dangling.
“Which one was it? Ironhand or Baker?”
“A tall, middle-aged Indian,” Chee said. “Sounds like Ironhand.”
“And he just took newspapers? Like the radio said this morning?”
Chee was trying to fill in the form with the clipboard balanced on his right knee. “Apparently. The victim didn’t think anything else was missing. But then he was still pretty stunned.”
“I think you should call Lieutenant Leaphorn,” Manuelito said. “It sounds awfully funny.”
Chee looked up at her. “Why?”
“Because, you know, running that risk just to get a newspaper.”
“I meant why call Leaphorn?”
“Well, you know, I think he’d be interested. At the roadblock he told us we should be extra careful because he guessed it would be about now those guys, if they were hiding in the canyons, about now they’d be making their move. And the deputy I was working with said he thought they’d be more likely to lie low until everybody got tired of looking before they made a run, and the lieutenant said, maybe so, but their radio was broken. They’d wouldn’t know what was going on. They’d be getting desperate to know something.”
“He said that?” Chee said, sounding incredulous. “About making their move now. How the devil could Leaphorn have guessed?” Manuelito shrugged.
“And that’s why you think I should call him?”
Now it was Bernie’s turn to look slightly embarrassed. She hesitated. “I like him,” she said. “And he likes you. And I think he’s a very lonely man, and -'
The buzz of the telephone cut her off. Captain Largo again.
“What the hell are you and Manuelito doing?” Largo said. “Get her back up here with that report.”
“She just left a minute ago,” Chee said. He clicked off, filled in the last space, signed the form, handed it to her. Leaphorn liked him? Nobody had ever suggested that before. He’d never even thought of it. Of Leaphorn liking anyone, for that matter. Leaphorn was—Well, he was just Leaphorn.
“You know, Bernie,” he said. “I think I will call the lieutenant. I’d like to know what he’s thinking.”
Chapter Nineteen
Having resigned himself to more long hours spent listening to elderly Utes recounting their tribal mythology, Joe Leaphorn was reaching for his cap when the phone rang.
“Hello,” he said, sounding glum even to himself.
The voice was Jim Chee’s. Leaphorn brightened.
“Lieutenant, if you have a minute or two, I’d like to fill you in on what happened at the Chevron station in Bluff yesterday. Have you heard about that? I’d like to find out what you think about it.”
“I have time,” Leaphorn said. “But all I know is what I got on the television news. A man shows up at the station around opening time. He
