The flashlight blinded Bernie.
“Turn it off,” she said, snapping on her own flashlight. “Turn it off.” She shaded her eyes, turned her own light on Chandler.
“I said
Chandler lowered the light. “Who are you?” he asked.
“What are you people doing in here?” Bernie asked. “And did I hear something about a pistol? This is a National Park with no firearms permitted. If you have one, hand it over.”
Joanna nodded toward Chandler, said, “He has—” Then stopped.
“And I’ll need to see your visitors’ permits,” Bernie said. “The form they gave you when you checked in and got permission to come down here without an authorized Park Service guide.”
Chandler had been studying Bernie, motionless and wordless. Now he shook his head, laughed. “I’ll have to see your credentials.”
“First I’ll take the pistol,” Bernie said. “I heard this lady say you had it.”
“You don’t look like a Park Service ranger to me,” Chandler said. “Where’s the uniform? Where’s the official Park Service shoulder patch? All I see is a little woman in dusty blue jeans and a torn shirt and one of those New York Giants ball caps.”
“Turn over the pistol,” Bernie said. “Just having a firearm down here is a federal offense. You add a citation of refusing to obey a federal officer to that charge, and you’re going to be facing a federal felony indictment.”
“Oh well,” Chandler said. “Why argue about it.”
He extracted a pistol from a jacket pocket, extended it toward Bernie, muzzle forward. And not, she noticed, extended far enough so she could take it without getting within his easy reach. It looked like one of the Glock automatic models used by a lot of police forces.
“Turn it around butt first and toss it to me,” Bernie ordered.
“All right,” Chandler said.
He raised the pistol, pointed it at Bernie.
“Now,” he said, “let’s quit wasting time. Get out your Park Service credentials and show me. Or your badge, or whatever you carry. And if you’ve got a gun on you, which I don’t see, we’ll want that, too.”
“I don’t have my badge with me. This is an undercover assignment. We’re checking into a report we’ve had.”
“Oh, really!” Chandler said.
“My partner will be in here anytime joining me. If he sees you holding that gun on me, he’ll shoot first and then ask what you’re doing. Better give it to me.”
“Put your arms straight out from your sides,” he said. “Miss Craig here is going to pat you down. See if you have a weapon. You would have, even if you are doing something undercover.”
“You’re getting into serious trouble. Both of you.”
“Go pat her down,” Chandler said, nodding to Joanna. “Make sure she doesn’t have a weapon.”
“No. No,” Joanna said. “I’m not having anything to do with this.”
Chandler stared at her, expression grim.
“I see,” he said. Then, to Bernie: “Turn around, little lady, arms straight out, hands open.” He took a step forward, checked for a shoulder holster, checked her belt line, patted her on the back. Nodded.
“Now that that’s out of the way, I’ll show you my credentials.” He took out his billfold, opened it, thrust it at Bernie’s face. “There you see my own badge as a Los Angeles County, California, deputy sheriff. And here”—he took a card from his billfold—“is my authorization as a criminal investigator for the same county. I am here to continue an investigation of a cold case, an old homicide in California, the investigation of which has led us all the way out here.”
Bernie nodded, very aware that Chandler had jerked both the badge and the certification card away before she had a chance to read them. The man was lying, but perhaps he was a private investigator with some sort of credentials. The world seemed to be full of them.
The thunder was booming again. The sharp crack of a lightning strike on the mesa top near the slot echoed around them. Bernie noticed the dusty stone streambed was no longer dusty. It was carrying a thin sheet of water. And as she watched, it repeated something she’d seen untold times after the “male rains” of summer in desert mesa country—another wave of runoff raced down the floor and left the thin sheet an inch or so deeper. She felt a sense of urgency. Another such wave would be coming, and another, and another. As gravity rushed the runoff water down, the stream would became a flood.
“Well, then,” she said, “what can I do to assist you?”
“Just take a seat somewhere and stay out of the way,” Chandler said. “We want to get our evidence collected and get out of here before this storm turns into something serious.”
He picked up the strap of his backpack, pulled it away from the stream floor, and zipped it open. Bernie watched as he sorted through its contents, moving a shirt out of the way, pushing aside underwear, shoving a small pistol under the shirt, finally taking out a pair of heavy wool socks. He inspected them and looked at his companion.
“Joanna,” he said. “You got any sort of sack in your pack?”
“For what?” she said.
“For what we came for,” he said, and pointed to the double line of diamonds.
