Hostiin Yellow's expression told her he was disappointed.
'Like people in Ganado or Shiprock or Burnt Water or Albuquerque or Alabama or anywhere,' he said. 'When the wind inside turns dark and tells them it must be done.'
Bernie tried for an expression that would suggest she understood. It didn't seem to work.
'You have seen what the coal mining has done to our Earth Mother on Black Mesa. And other places. Have you seen what these modern placer mines do? Great jets of water washing away everything. The beauty is gone. Our sisters the plants, our brothers the animals, they're all dead or washed away. Only the ugly mud is left.'
'I saw a documentary about that high water-pressure placer mining. On public television. It made me sad. And then it made me angry,' Bernie said.
'Think and consider,' Hostiin Yellow said. 'If it makes you angry, it might make some people angry enough to kill. Think about it. What if those are the people you are looking for? What do they do if you find them?'
Chapter Five
« ^ »
Leaphorn stopped his pickup beside a patrol car bearing the decal of the Apache County Sheriff's Department, which told him the scene of the Doherty homicide was officially decided to be in Arizona and not in San Juan County, New Mexico, a few feet to the east. The car was empty. Fifty feet beyond it, fenced off behind a yellow crime scene tape, was Doherty's blue king-cab truck with a burly fellow in a deputy uniform sitting on its tailgate looking at Leaphorn. Who did he know in the Apache County department? The sheriff, of course, an old-timer, and the undersheriff, but neither of those would be out here. Once Leaphorn had known all the deputies, but deputies come and go, changing jobs, getting married, moving away. Now he knew fewer than half of them. But he could see he knew this one, who was walking toward him. It was Albert Dashee, a Hopi Indian better know as Cowboy. And he was grinning at Leaphorn.
'Lieutenant,' Deputy Dashee said. 'What brings you up here to the scene of our crime? I hope you're going to tell me that New Mexico admitted the Arizona border is actually over there'—Dashee pointed to the west side of the arroyo—'and San Juan County has to do the babysitting for the Federals instead of me.'
'No,' Leaphorn said. 'I was just feeling curious about this homicide. I thought I'd come up and see if I could take a look.'
'I can think of two reasons you might be curious,' Dashee said, still grinning.
'Two?'
'One is the Bureau blaming Jim Chee's girlfriend for messing up the scene. And one is the Bureau looking for a way to connect this with Wiley Denton killing that con man. Killing McKay. You were always interested in that one.'
'Let's just say I'm like an old retired fireman who can't stay away when something's burning.' He was thinking how impossible it was to keep a secret, maintain even a shred of privacy, in the small world of police work. 'You're looking well, Cowboy,' he said. 'I haven't seen you since that Ute Mountain casino robbery business.'
Their chat lasted maybe five minutes, and then Leaphorn walked to the tape, looked at the truck, and said: 'Found the body in the front seat. That right?'
'Curled up on the seat cushion,' Dashee said. 'Head against the driver-side door, feet the other way. Like sleeping. Hell, I'd have figured it just like Bernie did. Another drunk.' He held the tape down so Leaphorn could step easily over it. 'In case anybody asks, I said you can't come in without permission from the agent in charge.'
Leaphorn peered through the window, touching nothing. He looked in the truck bed, through the small side window into the passenger cab. Crouched to examine the tire treads and to look under the vehicle with Cowboy trailing along, watching him and talking.
'Oops,' Cowboy said. 'I hear my radio,' and he was trotting away to his car.
Leaphorn slipped the tobacco tin from its sack and pushed it into a secluded and weedy corner. That done, he circled the truck, examining the maze of tracks left by ambulance people and the swarm of investigators who followed.
Then Cowboy was back.
'They're sending a tow for the truck,' Cowboy said, moving back toward the tape. 'You finished here? Seen anything interesting?'
'Not much,' Leaphorn said. 'I guess you noticed that tobacco tin over there by the brush.' He pointed. 'I thought maybe it might have fallen out of the truck when the medics were taking the body out. Then it could have got kicked over there.'
Dashee examined Leaphorn a moment. 'Where?'
Leaphorn walked over. Pointed.
Dashee squatted, peered, looked up at Leaphorn, nodded, and straightened up.
'Funny the crime scene crew didn't notice that,' he said, looking at Leaphorn. 'Don't you think?'
Leaphorn shrugged. 'City boys, those agents,' Leaphorn said. 'Lawyers, accountants. Very good at what they're good at. How good would we be working a mail fraud case in Washington?'
Dashee was rewarding Leaphorn with a broad grin tinged with skepticism and directing him back over the crime scene tape, back toward Leaphorn's pickup, opening the door for him.
Leaphorn got in, started the engine, then turned it off.
'You said the Bureau was connecting this case with Wiley Denton killing the con man. Do they think Doherty was trying to work some sort of swindle like McKay?'
'The Federals don't confide much in us sheriff deputies,' Dashee said.
'But they talk to the deputy's boss when they have to and sheriffs like to share the information.'
