Sherman said nothing.
Chandler glanced at him, noticed his expression. Said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so impatient.”
“The story is that a little trading post at Short Mountain, way up in the northwest corner of the Navajo Reservation, got burglarized some years back. Owner gave the cops a list of missing stuff, including a very expensive diamond. When this robbery-homicide Tuve pulled off came up, with Tuve trying to pawn a big diamond, the old Navajo cop who had worked the Short Mountain case checked on it. The trader claimed a cowboy had come in out of a snowstorm and traded it to him for some groceries and a ride into Page. This cowboy said he was down at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and an old man came along and swapped him the diamond for a fancy jackknife he had.”
Chandler considered this without comment.
“End of story,” Sherman said. “You ready to have me hurry through the other one?”
“You have the name of the Navajo cop who checked into this? Or the trading post owner? Or whether this diamond swap was in the same part of the canyon? That damned Grand Canyon is two hundred and seventy-seven miles long and more than ten miles wide.”
“It couldn’t be as long as that,” Sherman said. “And I don’t know where he got the diamond. Don’t know the names, either. But I guess I can get them.”
“I’ll want them,” Chandler said. “Now, what’s the other story?”
“Exactly what you’d expect. The widow of the guy killed in that curio store robbery claims Tuve lied in his story about where he got that stone. She said her husband had that big diamond for years and she wanted to make damn sure the law took good care of it and gave it back to her when the trial was over.”
Chandler laughed.
Sherman grinned at him. “I didn’t really think that would surprise you.”
“It doesn’t,” Chandler said. “I think I may have gotten myself involved in a situation in which diamonds have punched the avarice button on two greedy women.”
“Two? Who’s the other one? You mean that Craig woman? How does she fit in?”
Sherman was leaning back against the passenger-side door, studying Chandler, watching a driver who had hoped to use the turnout lane creeping cautiously past.
Chandler ignored the question.
“I think you need to tell me what this is all about,” Sherman said. “Otherwise I might run across something useful and not even know it.”
“Like what?”
“Well, hell. Like who we’re trying to find. He might walk right past me.”
Chandler laughed. “I don’t think that’s likely. This guy who is being looked for is dead.”
“Dead?”
“And we’re not trying to find him. Or if we do, we’ll never admit it. We’ll just hide him again.”
Sherman, not enjoying this, said, “I don’t like playing children’s guessing games. What are you paying me to do?”
Chandler took a folded envelope out of his shirt pocket.
“There’s a list of stuff in here. Where you can find me, phone number, all that. And a list of instructions. Information I need. Names. All that. Then I want you to locate Tuve, find that woman who posted bond for him. If she went back to where she came from, find her address and what she does there. If she stayed out here, find out where and what she’s doing. Who she’s talking to, all that.”
Sherman took the envelope, extracted the note inside, read it, stared at Chandler.
“I’ll still say I could be a lot more useful, and quicker, if I know what our goal is in all this.”
Chandler nodded. He gave Sherman a quick summary starting with the airlines colliding, then moving on to the diamond case padlocked to the arm. But how much of this did he want Sherman to know?
“It was a man named Clarke,” he continued. “Like most of the victims, his body was never recovered.”
Sherman was frowning. “You going to tell me we’re looking for this Clarke bird? Dead for how many years?”
“No. I was going to tell you that a daughter of his old girlfriend got a psychic message through some spiritualist that Clarke had his arm torn off in the crash, and he sent her psychic orders to find it and bury it properly with the rest of his corpse so it would quit hurting him in the spirit world.”
“Come on,” Sherman said. “Get serious.” He laughed.
“The one she wants is the arm that had the case of diamonds handcuffed to it.”
Sherman considered that for a moment, said, “Oh, I guess I get the picture.”
“I’m not quite certain I get it myself. But it seems like the interests you and me are representing here are the foundation which inherited all that Clarke fortune. And probably the insurance, which paid out its hundred thousand dollars maximum airline flight fee for the jewels, and somebody interested in patching Clarke’s body back together.”
“And you figure that burial sentiment is actually based on trying to get those diamonds, right?”
“Well, a civil suit is now hung up in court. A woman is claiming to be an out-of-wedlock granddaughter of Old Man Clarke and therefore the valid heiress to the Clarke billions. And that lawsuit was months after the news that even old bones can yield DNA evidence to prove family lineage.”
