The Wailing Wind

Peshlakai looked puzzled. He shrugged.

Bernie found herself hoping he'd say no. She hadn't been able to visualize this frail old man in the role of sniper, trying to murder her. His mention of the Night Chant had brought back a great, great memory of the last night of that ceremony. She'd been eleven, a fifth grader, and there she stood with her cousin Harold and seven other kids —the boys wearing only breechcloths and shivering in the November cold, the girls wearing their very best ceremonial dresses and all the silver they could borrow, and shivering with a mixture of awe and excitement. The Singer shaking the sacred pollen from a flask, sprinkling it on her shoulders, looking above her into the stars as he sang the prayer. And then, that great dramatic moment that signified the entry of a child into the fullness of humanity, the figures of Grandfather of the Monsters and White Flint Woman appearing in the firelight, walking down the row inspecting them, then removing their terrible yei masks to reveal themselves as fellow humans. White Flint Woman had proved to be Bernie's paternal aunt. She put her mask on Bernie's head, allowing her to see through the eyeholes the world as seen by the Holy People.

'Mr. Peshlakai,' Harjo repeated, 'did you—'

Chee held up his hand. 'I'll handle this,' he said.

This surprised Bernie, who had been analyzing Chee's performance and giving him a pretty good grade. Why this abrupt, and rude, interruption?

Chee tilted his head toward Osborne. 'This officer here wants you to tell him if you tried to kill this young woman.'

Peshlakai had no trouble answering that. He said, 'No.'

'I will ask you again. Did you try to kill her?'

Peshlakai shook his head. 'No.'

'I have no need to tell you what we are taught about the truth,' Chee said. 'You have taught many others. Mr. Harjo here asked you once, now I will ask you the fourth time. Did you try to kill this woman?'

Peshlakai said no again, rather loudly, and followed the answer with a very slight smile.

Chee looked at Osborne. 'He denies it.'

'Finally,' Osborne said. 'We've got that on the record, for whatever it's worth.' He looked at his watch again, said thank-you-very-much to Peshlakai, and ducked out the hogan door with Harjo following.

Chee and Officer Manuelito lingered long enough to make their polite departure. At the doorway Bernie paused and looked back at Peshlakai. 'I never did think you tried to kill me,' she said.

The ride out of the canyon and past the chapter house was mostly silent. When they hit Navajo Route 9 and headed west toward Gallup, Bernie decided she had to know.

'What were you doing back there?'

'What do you mean?'

'I speak Navajo,' Bernie said. 'You never did ask him Osborne's question. If he shot at me. You changed the question around.'

Chee shrugged. 'Same thing.'

'Like hell it was,' Bernie said. 'He could deny he tried to kill me. He couldn't deny he shot at me.'

Chee laughed. 'As our former president would tell you, it depends on how you define the word at.'

'It's not funny,' Bernie said. 'And if I'm not suspended, and if I'm still an officer working on this case, I think you should tell me what you were doing in that interview.'

That produced a long silence. A new red Chrysler RV roared up behind them, way over the speed limit, noticed the police car markings, and slowed abruptly. Chee waved it past.

'I have a right to know,' Officer Manuelito said. 'Don't you believe I do? Think about it.'

'I'm thinking about it,' Chee said. 'And I guess you're right. I gave him a question he could deny without lying because I didn't think it mattered whether he shot at you. I'm pretty sure he must have. What mattered was why he shot. He must have wanted to scare you. To get you out of the canyon. Why? What's the old man hiding? What's the secret? From what he said, he's protecting a sacred place. You heard him. Up there somewhere is a source of the herbs and minerals shamans need for the Night Chant. Need for their medicine bundles.'

Bernie considered all of this, remembering how frightened she had been crouching behind the sandstone out of sight of the sniper. She felt a little hurt by the lack of importance Lieutenant Chee attached to her being shot at— even if it was just to frighten her. How would he have felt hiding behind that slab, waiting to be killed? But she saw his point. He thought Peshlakai had something to do with the Doherty homicide, which was why they were here. He had been establishing some 'fellow shaman good old boy' bonding, being friendly. Pretty soon he'd be coming back to Peshlakai's hogan to have a heart-to-heart talk.

'Sergeant,' she said, 'is it your intention to freeze out Agent Osborne? Solve this one yourself?'

Chee glanced at her, not pleased by either the questions or the tone.

'Come on, Bernadette,' he said. 'Of course not.'

Bernie waited a few moments, said: 'Oh.'

Hearing the skepticism in that, Chee was frowning at the windshield.

'I think Hostiin Peshlakai has some helpful information. But I don't think he's going to tell anyone about it unless he knows he can trust them. I think it will be about this damned gold-mine business, and he's not going to trust any belagaana if finding gold is in the picture.' Chee interrupted this with a wry chuckle. 'Not many Navajos, either, for that matter.'

Chapter Fifteen

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