“How about you, Joe. You miss being a cop?”
“I still am one, sort of. I carry a Coconino deputy sheriff’s badge, and ones from San Juan and McKinley counties in New Mexico.”
Garcia raised his eyebrows. “I think you’re supposed to turn those in, aren’t you? After all, you’re just a—ah, just a civilian now.”
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“Hadn’t thought about it,” Leaphorn said, and smiled.
“Are you going to report me to the sheriff ?” Garcia laughed.
The waiter arrived. Garcia ordered iced tea and two doughnuts.
“Now you’re going to ask me about Bork,” he said.
“Well, I like him. We worked with him on some stuff. He’s smart. Former deputy himself. Seemed honorable.” He sipped his tea, looked at Leaphorn. “But I didn’t like the sound of that telephone call.”
“No,” Leaphorn said.
“The missus said you’d told her to let me hear that tape. What’s he into? Any ideas about that?”
“Here’s all I know,” Leaphorn said. He handed Garcia Bork’s letter and the magazine photo of the tale-teller rug. Then he told Garcia about remembering how it had been burned to ashes in the Totter’s Trading Post fire—
along with one of the FBI’s most wanted bad men.
Garcia studied the photo, looking thoughtful.
“I never saw the original,” he said. “Is this it?”
“I saw it just once in Totter’s gallery,” Leaphorn said.
“Not long before the fire. Stood and stared at it a long time. I’d heard some of the old stories about it from my grandmother. The photo looks like the rug I remember looking at. But it doesn’t seem possible. I talked to Mr.
Tarkington at his gallery here. He thought it might be a copy. But he wasn’t ready to make any bets.” Garcia looked up from the photo. “Pretty flossy house it’s hanging in,” he said. “Judging from the view through the window, that might be old John Raskins’s house.”
“That’s what Tarkington told me. He told me this Delos fella lives there now.”
50
TONY HILLERMAN
“I take it you haven’t talked to Delos yet? Asked him where he got the rug?”
“I intend to do that tomorrow. Thought I’d call him and see if he’ll let me in. Let me look at the rug.” Garcia smiled. “Good luck,” he said. “He’s pretty high society for Flagstaff. He’s probably going to refer you to his Asian housekeeper. What are you going to tell him?
Going to just show him your Coconino deputy sheriff ’s badge and tell him you’re investigating a crime?” Leaphorn shook his head. “I see your point. What’s the crime?”
“Exactly.” Garcia tested his tea again, looking thoughtful.
Leaphorn waited.
“So you’re curious, too?” Garcia asked.
“Afraid so,” Leaphorn said. “After all these years.” Garcia drained his iced tea, picked up the ticket, put on his hat.
“Joe,” he said. “Let’s drive out to that old Totter place and look around and have a talk. I’ll explain why I’m still curious, and then you tell me what’s bothering you.”
“It’s a long drive,” Leaphorn said. “All the way up there past Lukachukai.”
“Well, it’s a long story, too,” Garcia said. “And a real sad one. Goes all the way back to that crime that put Ray Shewnack on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. And I wouldn’t think you’d be too busy. Being retired.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Leaphorn said, with a rueful chuckle.
“We’ll burn Coconino County sheriff gasoline,” Garcia said, as they got into his patrol car. “And remember, you’ve got to tell me more about what pulled THE SHAPE SHIFTER
51
you into this. As I recall, all you were doing up there at Totter’s that day was sort of taking orders from the federals.”
“My story isn’t all that long,” Leaphorn said. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really understand it myself.”
8
Garcia swerved off the interstate at Holbrook and roared up Highway 71 past Bidahochi, took 191 to Chinli, and thence along the north rim of Canyon de Chelly to Lukachukai and onward past Round Rock onto the gravel road that wandered between Los Gigante buttes into the empty rough country. Here the Carrizo Mountains ended and became the Lukachukai stem of the Chuska range.
That represented a three-hour drive, but Garcia made it in less than that. Talking all the way, and sometimes listening to Leaphorn.
Leaphorn had been doing some listening, too, but mostly he was enjoying his role as passenger—a position that
