“That means you are a very important person to this man who calls himself Shewnack. The only one left who could identify him with that double murder.”
“If he wasn’t already burned up,” Delonie said.
“You believe that?”
“Well, should I believe you or the famous old Federal Bureau of Investigation?”
“We’ll give you a choice,” Leaphorn said, and began connecting the dots of time and place between a man calling himself Shewnack leaving Handy’s store with the loot, and a man who called himself Totter appearing back in the high, dry Four Corners Country and buying himself an old trading post and gallery. Then the fire destroying a man Totter had hired, who the FBI decided was Shewnack. Then Totter cashing in, disappearing.
“Then,” Leaphorn continued, but Delonie held up his hand.
“And then we learn that Mr. Totter is dead, too,” he said. “How does that work in this blueprint of yours?” THE SHAPE SHIFTER
211
“It didn’t, but then we checked on the obituary notice, turns out it was false. The man who called himself Totter didn’t die.”
“Still alive? Where?”
“Just outside Flagstaff now, if we’re right. We think he’s a man who used to be a CIA agent in Vietnam. Mr.
Vang here knew him when he was calling himself George Perkins. The way this funny trail leads, he got caught stealing CIA bribery money, got bumped out of the CIA, took Tommy Vang here out of a Hmong refugee camp, settled—if we can call it that—in San Francisco. As Tommy told you, he was gone a lot on trips. He was gone, for example, in the long period before the Handys were killed, and he was gone again for a long time when Totter was taking over that trading post and doing his business from there. Then—”
Delonie held up his hand again.
“Let me finish that for you. Then, when those of us doing time for the Handys started getting out on parole, he decided we’d see him and turn him in. So he hired himself a helper, burned him up, left evidence to persuade the FBI this was Shewnack, thereby eliminating that problem. That it?”
“Just about,” Leaphorn said.
“Pretty weak connection, seems to me. You want me to think this Jason Delos is Shewnack?” Leaphorn nodded.
“You left out that rug,” Tommy Vang said. “And you left out how Totter stole that pinyon sap so the fire wouldn’t look like arson.”
“Pinyon sap?” Delonie said. “And a rug?” He was grinning. “I know this Shewnack sort of proved I’m stupid, 212
TONY HILLERMAN
but I’ve learned some from that. What are you trying to sell me here?”
Leaphorn explained the rug, explained—rather lamely—the sap, the lard buckets, the very hot fire without any sign of those fire-spreading chemicals the arson investigators are trained to look for.
Delonie thought about it, nodded. “If I was the grand jury, I’d guess maybe I’d be interested in all this. But I think I’d be asking for more evidence. Isn’t this all pretty much just circumstantial?” He laughed. “Notice that language I’m using. We learn that doing time in prison. Lots of guard-house lawyers in there. But I think I’d be wondering what you are trying to accomplish with all this.” Leaphorn was wondering, too. Wondering what he was doing here. He was tired. His back hurt. He was supposed to be retired. Delonie was right. If they had Delonie on the witness stand ready to swear Jason Delos was actually Ray Shewnack, the defense attorney would note Delonie was a paroled convict and repeatedly note the total, absolute, utter lack of any concrete evidence.
To hell with it, Leaphorn thought.
“I guess you’d have to say we’re trying to save your life, Mr. Delonie. To keep this ‘raised from the ashes’ Ray Shewnack from erasing you as the only threat left.” He pulled the little gift box from his jacket pocket.
Handed it to Delonie. “Here’s the present he sent you.”
“What do you mean, save my life?” Delonie asked.
He took the little box, held it gingerly, turned it over, read the note on it, tapped it with his finger.
“Who wrote this?”
“I wrote it,” Tommy said. “Mr. Delos spoke it to me and told me to write it down.”
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213
“Who is it supposed to be from? From this Delos man?”
“I don’t know,” Tommy said. “It’s a little bottle of cherries. The big ones he uses in the bourbon drinks he likes to make.”
Delonie tore open the wrapping, pulled the box apart, extracted the bottle, examined it carefully.
“Nice thing to send somebody,” Delonie said. “If I thought this Delos was actually that Ray Shewnack, I’d be very surprised. I never did think he had any use for me.
He smiled at everybody, and slapped your back, but you could tell.”
“It won’t have any Delos fingerprints on it,” Leaphorn said. “Neither that slick paper wrapping nor the bottle, nor the bottle top. Nobody handled it, except Mr. Vang here. Delos even had Tommy press his thumb down on the
