The Tale Teller

by Anne Hillerman

  Leaphorn noticed that Mary’s hand holding the pistol had begun to shake.

  “I left him. I’m a thief and a liar, and I will only bring shame to him now.” She moved the gun, shifting the aim away from Sakiestewa toward her right temple.

  Leaphorn lunged, pushing Mary to the floor. The gun clattered away as they both fell. Mary struggled against his weight for a moment, and then he felt heaving sobs flood her body. He rolled onto the floor to catch his breath, then stood and secured the gun.

  Sakiestewa was gone, the staccato beat of his boots reverberating on the metal stairs. Mary lay where she had fallen, weeping. He called 911.

  19

  Chee and Bernie both awoke early. Bernie hadn’t gone for her regular run since she’d found the body. It was time, and she knew where she needed to be.

  “Come with me this morning. I understand that jogging isn’t your thing, but I’d really like some company.”

  “Sure, if you make some coffee first.”

  She said her morning prayers with white cornmeal, and by the time the coffee was ready, so was Chee. They sat on the deck and drank a cup and then headed off. Bernie jogged toward the trail where she’d found the body now known as Nicky and Michael.

  The day was still cool, the air seductive with a hint of moisture.

  “This is lovely.” Chee matched her pace. “Why don’t I do this more often?”

  “Good question.” Bernie began to run faster. It didn’t take long to reach the jogging path.

  “See that black Honda?” Bernie raised her arm to point it out to him.

  “What about it?”

  “It was here after I found the body. I think it belongs to Summersly, a guy who gave me a hard time.”

  “Interesting.”

  She felt a tingle down her spine as they ran close to where she had encountered the dog. She left the trail and headed toward the river. The place the body had lain looked like other spots now, and Bernie took a moment to be sure of the location. “I found Nicky there, partly hidden in the weeds. I would have missed the body if not for the dog.”

  Chee looked toward the place and back at her. “I can help you arrange a ceremony.”

  “Let’s talk when we get back to the house.”

  They jogged back to the trail and to the fallen tree at the turnaround point. That’s where they found Ed Summersly drinking from a waterbottle, his foot on a tree stump. He recognized Bernie.

  “Hey, you’re the one who talked to me about that crime scene out here, right?”

  “Right. Thanks for helping with that.”

  “A man called me from the FBI. Very formal and efficient. I guess I saw something they found interesting.”

  “Like what?”

  “They kept asking about a guy I hadn’t seen out here before, a man wearing jeans and a white shirt, heavyset, perspiring hard. He looked kind of green.” Summersly glanced at Bernie. “I think you ran by then, about the time he started, well, losing his lunch. I fiddled around tying my shoes so I could watch him, make sure he was OK. After a few minutes, a car drove up and the man climbed in the back seat and they drove off. The car had California plates and a strange dent in the back bumper, like it had backed into a big pole or something.”

  “Did you see who was driving?” Chee pulled out his cell phone as he asked the question.

  “No, even if I’d tried, I don’t think I could have seen through the tinted windows.”

  Summersly ran on.

  Bernie noticed Chee dialing a number. He spoke to her while he waited for Agent Johnson to answer. “The car Summersly identified? It matches the description of the one I saw when Mr. Natachi got shot.”

  The run home, always quicker than the trip out, went faster than usual. Chee pushed himself harder and she kept up, enjoying the challenge.

  By the time Bernie emerged from a quick shower, Chee said he had spoken to Lieutenant Black about the new developments with Nicky’s murder, and Agent Johnson had called and talked to him about the car used in Mr. Natachi’s shooting.

  “She wouldn’t confirm anything, but from her questions, I assume she’s moving pretty quick on this. She wants you to call her at work in about an hour. She wouldn’t say why.”

  “My money’s on Ryana.”

  Chee fixed eggs with onions, green peppers, and Spam, and they had a quick breakfast together. Then Chee drove his police unit to the station, and Bernie followed in her Tercel. Largo was waiting to talk to her and ushered her into his office.

  “Sage Johnson called me this morning, bright and early. Guess what she wanted to talk about?”

  “Well, since you pulled me in here, I’m guessing it was me.”

  “Agent Berke complained about you yesterday. He claims you interfered with his questioning of a suspect and impeded his investigation.”

  Largo sat back in his chair. She studied the floor, getting her anger under control.

  “Manuelito, this is the part where you tell me what happened.”

  “Sir, Berke kept badgering a young Navajo woman, Ryana Florez, who had spent most of the day with her grandfather in the hospital. Not only that, she had just learned that her boyfriend was dead and that he had been living under an assumed identity. Berke continued to push her even when I could tell she honestly couldn’t answer his questions. The guy acted like a jerk, so I called him out on it.” She looked at Largo. “I’d do it again.”

  “Write up the details and give it to me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bernie hated paperwork. “Do you have time to talk about something else?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’m looking for a link between the Chinle burglaries and what happened at our flea market. If the parking lot of the store where Stevens says the guy sold him the bolo has a camera, maybe I’ll get lucky. Do you have any other ideas?”

  “No. Get that rolling before you talk to Johnson.”

  She stood to leave.

  “Manuelito, take the rest of the day off after you talk to Johnson.”

  “Why, sir? Is this because of Berke?”

  “No.”

  “A budget thing?”

  Largo smiled. “You’ve been working nonstop since you found that body. Chill this afternoon. And don’t worry about Berke. He has a chip on his shoulder as big as Agathla Peak.”

  She phoned the store. They did have a few outdoor cameras positioned here and there in the parking lot. The head of security would review the footage and email a digital file to the station if they saw anyone selling anything to anybody on the morning in question.

  “I need it as soon as possible.”

  “Of course you do.” The voice on the phone sounded tired. “If you don’t see it in a couple of days, call me back.” She made a note of the man’s name and phone number. A couple of days! She’d call back and build a fire under him in a few hours if the file didn’t show.

  As it turned out, typing notes for Largo about her time with Ryana was a good exercise. She remembered things that Johnson might find of interest. Bernie was almost done when Sandra buzzed her.

  “Baby news?”

  “I wish. Agent Johnson on the line.”

  A woman who always got right to business, Johnson lived up to her reputation. “Manuelito, I thought you were going to call me.”

  “I was, as soon as I finished a report for Largo. What do you need?”

  “I’ve got an interview with the woman who was living with Michael Debois. She said she’d only talk if you are in the room, too.”

  “What’s the focus of the interview?”

  “We think she can identify some of Michael’s recent associates in Chinle. We see her as a valuable witness. Between us, except for the fact that she had his car with the loot in the trunk, we don’t have much on her.”

  “The Navajo Police are looking into the burglaries that might involve the items in that car.”

  “It sounds like you can fill me in.” Johnson paused. “Let’s grab an early lunch, and you explain why
Berke is so grumpy today, too. Then we’ll talk to Ryana.”

  Bernie hesitated. “I’m waiting for some information to arrive here—”

  “I’ll talk to Largo. Don’t sweat it. Just a quick bite. An extra half hour.” Johnson named the place and time.

  “I’ll see you there.”

  They met at Farmington’s Three Rivers Restaurant and Brew Pub and talked about the menu and the weather until Bernie ordered a burger and a Coke and Johnson requested the Cobb salad and iced tea.

  The agent waited until the waitress left. “I called Chinle, but Black was out and Chee’s cell went right to message. Just give me the headlines.”

  “OK, but first, tell me about Michael. Why was his body there, and what did it have to do with you?”

  “That’s a long story. You’re looking at stupidity on Michael’s part, a deep-seated desire for vengeance from the gang he betrayed, and a gotcha attitude toward me.”

  Hearing the agent say it could have been personal grabbed Bernie’s attention.

  Johnson read her reaction. “I felt sorry for the man, got a little closer to him emotionally than I should have, even though I knew better. He was a master at manipulation. When he tried to get me to help him with something fishy, I severed all connections. Then Michael called to tell me he had left the program. He went back to what he’d always loved—internet cons.”

  “And that decision got him killed.”

  Johnson nodded. “If he’d stayed in California with the identity we provided, he’d still be alive. But he wasn’t one for following the rules. And the internet is everywhere, of course, so he could do his computer work from wherever. He had worked at Canyon de Chelly out of college on an AmeriCorps program. He knew the area and I guess he figured he’d be safe out here. Bad move.”

  The waitress brought their drinks.

  “When we tracked Michael’s car, I expected to find his computers in the trunk but not the other electronics and the jewelry. Tell me about that.”

  Bernie gave her the edited version, then sipped her Coke and waited for questions.

  “That Coke looks good. I used to live on soda, especially colas. Then I went to the dentist and got some bad news, so I cut back.”

  Bernie studied the glass, the carbonation bubbles popping on the surface like little celebrations. She had a spare straw. “You want a sip?”

  “No, I’m mostly on the wagon now.” Johnson’s smile showcased her perfect teeth. “Talk to me about Ryana. Convince me that a woman driving her dead boyfriend’s car with his laptops and stolen property in the trunk is not a party to his cons or his murder.”

  “Ryana’s story is complicated.”

  Johnson chuckled. “That could be said of everything out here.”

  Bernie mentioned Ryana’s time in Phoenix. “Did you search for Roxanne Dee?”

  “Not yet.”

  “In a nutshell, Ryana worked in adult films. It looks like she has been paying someone to keep it a secret from her grandfather.”

  “Go on.” She could tell by the way Johnson raised her eyebrows that this was news.

  “At first, I assumed Ryana was involved with the burglaries for two reasons. She needed money to pay the blackmailers, and Chee told me she had arranged for Nicky to make a safety presentation at the senior center. He tricked the old folks into talking about where they hid their valuables, and after that, those folks were targeted.” Bernie stopped for a sip of Coke. “Now I believe that the only thing she took was her grandfather’s bolo. Her regret over that led her to try to end the extortion. That’s when the blackmailer got violent.”

  “And you’ve come up with this theory because . . .”

  “Except for Mr. Natachi’s bolo, the rash of burglaries in Chinle all fit the same pattern, and they all seem to be tied to Nicky, I mean Michael.”

  The arrival of lunch interrupted the conversation. Bernie gave Johnson time to think about what she’d said and went to work on her burger. Good, but not as good as the ones Chee made. Or, perhaps, the company made the difference.

  Johnson sipped her drink and then resumed the conversation. “I’m thinking about the burglaries. I’ll talk to the guy in charge in Chinle. Michael probably wore gloves, but we have his prints on file. And DNA.”

  “Chee mentioned some blood at Ryana’s house.”

  “We’ll look into it.”

  Johnson picked up the bill when the waitress offered it and handed her a credit card.

  Bernie thanked her. “What about the Berke business?”

  Johnson shook her head. “Did you interfere with his interviewing?”

  “No.” Bernie unzipped her backpack and pulled out an envelope. “Here’s a longer answer. Largo asked me about the incident, so I did this report for him. I made you a copy. He acted like a heartless jerk.”

  Johnson left it in Bernie’s hand. “‘No’ is good enough for me. Let’s deal with Ryana. I’ll take the lead on the interview. But if you want to squeeze in a question or two, go for it.”

  Bernie thought Ryana seemed tired yesterday. Today the black, puffy half-circles under her eyes had developed their own circles. Her shoulders slumped at the table. The young woman reminded her so much of Darleen in her dark days that Bernie wanted to give her a hug.

  Johnson opened with questions about the car and returned to the topics Berke had covered: why Ryana was driving Michael’s car, what she knew about the items in the trunk, and where she was heading with the loot. The interview moved quickly to new territory with questions about her relationship with Nicky. Ryana’s answers were clear and brief.

  Where and how had they met? At a party of a mutual friend. Johnson asked for the name and made a note.

  What had he told her about his prior life? He was an only child, and his parents were dead. He grew tired of California, had fond memories of Arizona, and decided to move to Chinle. He’d never been married, and his last girlfriend left when he’d hit some rough spots with drugs and alcohol. He’d been sober for three years. And no, she’d never seen him high or drunk.

  How did he support himself? Nicky told her he worked on the computer, helping people with websites and other projects. Ryana talked about seeing him at the table with his laptop open, absorbed in whatever he was doing.

  “I never asked for details. Computers aren’t my thing.”

  “Who were his friends and associates in Chinle?”

  For the first time, Ryana looked surprised. “I . . . I don’t know. I never thought about that. Nicky kept to himself or went out with me and my pals. Once in a while someone would call him in the evening or on weekends. He told me that it was business.”

  Johnson closed her notebook.

  Bernie gave Ryana a smile. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me about getting blackmailed. What are your ideas about who would do this?”

  “None. I don’t know. No idea.”

  “Did you mention it to Nicky?”

  “No. We’d only been living together a few months. I was afraid—”

  Johnson interrupted. “You were afraid of him?”

  “No. I loved him. I was afraid he’d reject me if he knew what I’d done.” Ryana’s tone of voice changed. “You know, I didn’t do anything illegal. I made a bad choice when I took that adult video job, but I liked the idea of making money. I made a worse choice when I decided to pay the blackmailer rather than talking to my grandfather about what I’d done.”

  Johnson said, “Did you consider the idea that Nicky, with his computer skills, could have known about the movies and could have been the blackmailer?”

  “It’s not him. It started before we met, a few weeks after I moved back to Chinle from Phoenix.”

  “How did the blackmailer contact you?” Bernie said.

  “By mail. I received a letter with a screen shot of me from one of the videos. He wrote if I didn’t give him a hundred dollars cash, he would mail my grandfather that photo. He included the names of all my movies.” She tugged a strand of hair be
hind her ear. “Every month he wanted more money.”

  “How much did you pay?”

  “It started at a hundred, then two hundred, then more.”

  “How did you get the money?”

  Ryana sighed. “I sold the car I bought in Phoenix. I sold other stuff I moved back with. I worked all the overtime I could get. Finally, I took my grandfather’s bolo and I put it in the envelope instead of money with a note that said I was done and if he tried to get any more money from me I would tell my grandfather myself about the movies. I decided that I should tell my shicheii about it anyway, and I was going to talk to him when he came for coffee with me, like he did every morning. But instead someone grabbed him. My grandfather might die because of me.”

  “Let’s brainstorm this.” Bernie knew what she needed to say. “Who knew about the dirty movies?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Someone. Obviously.” She let the silence sit.

  “Well, when I first got back to Chinle, people asked me what I did in Phoenix. Once or twice I bragged that I had some acting jobs. But if they asked, like, what kind of acting, I stopped talking about it really fast. I never said what kinda videos I was in.”

  “I’d like the names of those friends.” Bernie noted that Johnson had reopened her notebook.

  Ryana came up with a short list of girlfriends and a friend’s sister who tagged along on a hike.

  “Think about this awhile, Ryana. Anyone else?”

  Ryana looked at the table for a moment. “Elsie asked me about Phoenix, and I told her I was there learning how to act and working as a waitress. I hate discussing that part of my life. Elsie wouldn’t hurt me, but maybe she mentioned it to someone else there at the center.”

  Bernie waited, glad that Johnson hadn’t stepped in to change the subject.

  “You know, when I first got back, my friend Mark and I went to a bar in Farmington and I had a few beers, and he kept asking about Phoenix and acting and teasing me that I was a wannabe and how come he’d never seen me on-screen. He thought I was lying and that it was funny, and I finally told him to look up Roxanne Dee. Somebody there might have overheard.”