“Joe Leaphorn,” Leaphorn said. “I used to be with—”
THE SHAPE SHIFTER
45
“Hey, Lieutenant Leaphorn,” Garcia said, sounding pleased. “Haven’t heard your voice since we worked on that Ute Mountain burglary thing. Somebody told me you were going to retire,” Garcia continued. “I said, no way.
Old Leaphorn ain’t the kind of man you’ll see out there chasing those golf balls around the grass. Just couldn’t quite imagine that.”
“Well, I am retired,” Leaphorn admitted. “You’re right about the golf thing. And now I’m trying to act like a detective again. Trying to find a friend from way back. A fellow named Mel Bork. Runs a private-eye business.”
“Yeah,” Garcia said. “Mrs. Bork called me. Said she had talked to you. Had me listen to her answering machine tape.” Garcia made a clicking sound with his tongue.
“What did you think?”
“Makes you wonder what Mel’s got himself into, doesn’t it?”
“It made me wonder. And if you have any time, I’d like to talk to you about it. Could we get together for a cup of coffee?”
“I can’t handle it today,” Garcia said.
Leaphorn overheard him shouting at someone, then a little bit of one end of a conversation, then Garcia came back on the phone.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe I can. You remember the Havacup Cafe there by the courthouse? How about meeting me there. Thirty minutes or so.”
“I’ll be there,” Leaphorn said. “By the way, do you know anything about a man named Jason Delos?” A moment of silence. “Delos? Not much. Understand he’s rich. Not one of the old families, or anything like that, but I guess he’s sort of prominent.” He chuckled. “Guy I 46
TONY HILLERMAN
know in the game and fish department said he thought he had him once for spotlighting deer, but he moved too quick. No shots fired. Didn’t have enough to file a charge.
Otherwise, he’s not the sort of citizen we’d be having much dealings with, I guess, but—”
The sound of someone yelling, “Hey, Kelly,” interrupted. “Got to go, Joe. I’ll see you at the Havacup in thirty minutes.”
7
The changes Leaphorn noticed in Garcia as the Coconino sheriff’s sergeant walked up to the booth were mostly in hair style. Leaphorn remembered him with bushy black hair, a bushy black mustache, and prominent black eyebrows. All still there, but all neatly trimmed now, and the black was modified into various shades of gray. Otherwise he was medium sized, trim and neat, and his eyes had re-tained their bright brown glint.
“How time flies,” Garcia said, after shaking Leaphorn’s hand and slipping into the booth. “But I see you still drink coffee.”
“I guess I’m an addict. And I asked the young lady to bring a cup for you, but she didn’t.”
“Good thing,” Garcia said. “I swore off the stuff.
Switched to drinking tea.”
“Oh,” Leaphorn said.
“Kept me awake.”
48
TONY HILLERMAN
Leaphorn nodded.
“Why you hunting Melvin Bork?”
Leaphorn considered that a moment. “Well, he’s sort of a friend. Used to be, way back. Haven’t seen him for years. We sort of got together in our rookie days, when I went to the FBI school back east. We met there. But maybe it’s partly just curiosity.”
Garcia was studying him. “Curious? Yeah, me, too.” Leaphorn let that hang.
“So you’re saying you really are retired now, right?
How long?”
“Just getting started at it. This is the first month.”
“How you like it?”
Leaphorn shrugged. “Not much. I think it takes some getting used to.”
Garcia sighed. “I’m up for it end of this year.”
“You don’t look old enough.”
Garcia made a wry face. “Getting tired though. Tired of doing all the damned paperwork. Messing with the federal regulations, dealing with drunks, and women beating up on their husbands, and vice versa, all that, and working with some of those young city boys the Federal Bureau of Ineptitude sends out here to our waterless desert.”
Leaphorn sipped his coffee.
