Cave of Bones

by Anne Hillerman

  Bernie hesitated before asking the next question.

  “Have you heard anything more about Michael Franklin, the guy who took a shot at me and stole Merilee Cruz’s car?”

  “No, I haven’t. He’s still out there somewhere. Why do you think he shot at you?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  She heard some muffled noise. Then he was back. “Two more things. The toxicology on Larry Hoffman shows that he died from an opioid overdose compounded by alcohol. And the new FBI agent needs to interview you about a lead on a case she’s working that somehow ties into all this.”

  “Me? Did she say why?” A fatal one-car accident with drugs and alcohol as a factor was usually not a matter for the FBI. Such things, unfortunately, happened regularly in New Mexico.

  “She’s following up on the lead about Manzanares—remember him, the state cop?” Largo didn’t wait for an answer. “He told the investigators that you were first on the Hoffman scene and removed potential drug evidence that has now disappeared.”

  Bernie couldn’t help herself. “Disappeared? Disappeared! No. He stole it out of my trunk during a blizzard. My guess is that Manzanares is into something, well, something off the books, and it stinks. So when does the FBI want to talk?”

  “She’s on her way now. You should be, too.”

  25

  Bernie understood the value of making a good first impression, and she realized she was failing miserably as she sat in the tiny conference room at the Shiprock substation with FBI agent Sage Johnson across the table. For starters, watching this blonde—about her age, maybe a touch older—look through her notes before she started asking the questions didn’t sit well with Bernie. Her time was valuable, and this woman didn’t mind wasting it.

  And why hadn’t the agent started out friendlier? After all, they’d be colleagues in law enforcement until this manicured white girl got a ticket off the reservation. Johnson offered her name and a handshake but didn’t follow up with any pleasantries. No “How are you?” or “I look forward to working with you.” Nothing.

  As she waited for the interview to start, Bernie considered what else she needed to do. She hadn’t even seen Chee since he’d come back from Santa Fe. She had put off talking to Darleen and that circled back to her lack of time with her husband. Then came the problems of the missing Mr. Cruz, the stolen pot, Annie’s lie, Annie’s retraction of the lie, Annie’s cookie, Ranger Hoffman’s death, the heartfelt connection between Merilee and Franklin, and Franklin’s firing a pistol and then becoming a car thief. Questions spun in her brain like planets on a wobbling orbit.

  She hadn’t had an opportunity to read the autopsy summary or the police report Leaphorn had sent on Merilee’s husband’s death. The Lieutenant would never have sent these if he didn’t think they contained something important. And now she had to wait for someone who should have had it together to get organized.

  Finally Johnson looked up from her notes at Bernie. “Officer Manuelito, I’ve reviewed Officer Manzanares’s notes about the accident that resulted in Mr. Hoffman’s hospitalization and death. He wrote that you were the first responder. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you speak to Mr. Hoffman at the scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about the conversation in detail. Everything you remember.”

  “Really? You want to know all the wacky, delusional things he said to me?”

  Johnson smiled, revealing perfect teeth. “There’s no reason to be combative, Officer. We’re on the same side here.”

  Bernie drew in a calming breath. Play nice, she told herself. Get this done. “Ah. He told me he recognized me and made a joke about my name.”

  “Is Bernie short for Bernadine?”

  “No. Bernadette.”

  “Go on, please.”

  Bernie regathered her thoughts. “He asked me to help him out of the car because there were too many ants in there.”

  “Aunts? As in women?”

  “Ants. As in the little bugs. I told him he had to wait for the ambulance people to help him.”

  “Wait. When did you call an ambulance?”

  “I called 911 to report the accident, and I said a man was injured.”

  Johnson made a note. “Tell me more about the conversation.”

  “He asked me where the blood came from. I told him it was from his nose colliding with the airbag. He said the airbag was a cloud of ice and to be careful about touching the car so the ants wouldn’t climb on me. He told me the ants were friendly.” Bernie paused. “Are you sure you need to hear all this?”

  “Please continue.”

  “He told me he couldn’t see very well, and I explained that he had broken his glasses in the accident. I said I was surprised he would be drinking or doing drugs while he was driving. He told me he never drinks while he’s driving, and that the only drug he takes is pain medicine for his back.”

  “Did he say how much?”

  Bernie thought about it. “I don’t remember. I may have it in my notes.”

  Johnson frowned. “Go on.”

  Bernie added every trivial detail she remembered, including the ants singing in his ear and the crushed wings, and Johnson kept asking for clarification. Bernie had to admit that most of the agent’s questions were good ones.

  “Tell me more about the phone call he said caused the accident. Did he say who was calling?”

  “No.”

  “When he asked you to call someone and tell her that he had been delayed, did he give you the name?”

  “No.”

  Johnson frowned again. “You can volunteer information. If you are more helpful, we can both be done with this, Officer.”

  “I saw that the call was to Merilee Cruz.” Bernie explained about the green wart and offered more details. “When I called her, she seemed to be expecting someone else and asked if Manzanares was there.”

  Agent Johnson interrupted. “Did she say Cris Manzanares?”

  Bernie thought about it. “No, she only used his last name.”

  “What did you say?”

  “‘No, he’s not,’ or something like that.”

  “Did Ms. Cruz say anything else about Manzanares?”

  “No. She hung up without saying good-bye.”

  “Why did you remove the box?”

  “Hoffman asked me to take the box to Merilee Cruz. He said he was afraid something might happen to it. He talked about his house rolling away.”

  “Enough with the hallucinations. Did you do as he asked?”

  “Yes. I put it in the trunk of my unit.”

  “Did you have any misgivings about doing that?”

  “Yes. That’s why I took photos.” Bernie paused and then brought up the conversation about owing Hoffman a favor because of the good price on the book.

  Johnson nodded once. “Did you have any contact with Officer Manzanares at the accident site?”

  Bernie relayed their conversation about the accident and the pot. “I asked Manzanares why it had taken him so long to reach the Wings and Roots campground to activate the search. He didn’t give me a straight answer.”

  “You mentioned that you put the pot in your unit. Where is it now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Someone broke into my trunk and removed it.”

  She thought she saw the whisper of a smile on the agent’s face, an expression that said Don’t give me this line of nonsense. But Johnson only said, “Did you mention this to Merilee Cruz?”

  “Yes. She said she couldn’t verify that I’d actually had the box intended for her because she hadn’t seen it.”

  Johnson jotted down another word or two and closed her notebook. “We’re done here for now. Thank you, Officer.”

  “I have something to ask you. Is the FBI just interested in a possible problem with pot hunters, or do you think this has something to do with the man who disappeared out there in the Malpais?”
<
br />   Johnson smiled, this time flashing her perfectly straight teeth. “That’s a great question. Have a good day.”

  Bernie went outside to calm down before she called Chee. Just like Mama, he had an uncanny way of sensing her moods. She paced around the parked cars and trucks, organizing her thoughts about Hoffman’s death, Domingo Cruz’s photographs, her suspicion that Manzanares took the pot from her trunk, and Annie’s cookie.

  Lately, parking lots had been bad luck for her. There’d been the car bomb at the Shiprock High School lot, where she was the first law enforcement person on the scene, and before that, witnessing Lieutenant Leaphorn take a bullet next to his truck in a Window Rock lot. Thinking of the Lieutenant reminded her again of the autopsy report on Merilee’s husband and the police report about the drowning. She’d read those things next and then talk to the Lieutenant again to see if he’d had any more insights about the Wings and Roots donor.

  She kept moving, breathing in the crisp December air, consciously shifting her thoughts to the positive until she had cooled off enough to call her husband. Just when she felt ready to call him, there was Chee’s well-used pickup pulling into a parking spot.

  She walked over. He lowered the window and was talking before she even reached him. “Hey, beautiful. Aren’t you cold out here without your jacket?”

  “No, the new FBI agent got me steamed up. I’m better now.”

  Chee shut off the engine and unfastened his seat belt. “You’ve been hard to get a hold of. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. Did you take Darleen back to Mama’s house?”

  Chee hesitated. “She made other plans. We need to talk.”

  She watched him climb out of the truck, swinging his long legs onto the ground with grace and strength. “The captain has you working tonight. You’re really early for your shift.”

  “I know. I planned it that way. With the hours you’ve been working, I figured I might find you here catching up on paperwork.”

  As they approached, the door to the station opened, and Agent Johnson emerged with her briefcase. She gave them a questioning look before walking briskly to a new steel-gray SUV.

  Chee squeezed Bernie’s hand. “Is that her?”

  Bernie nodded. “She’s investigating a fatal auto accident that I was first responder to. She just spent half an hour interviewing me.”

  “That’s odd. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Oh, I owed the guy a little favor so I made a phone call for him and took something he wanted delivered because he knew his car would be towed. He was only a loopy guy with a dislocated shoulder and some interesting hallucinations. I don’t know how a traffic accident turned into a federal case. I hope she knows what she’s doing.”

  Chee opened the door and motioned her to go ahead of him.

  Bernie smiled at him. “What’s going on with Darleen?’

  “Let’s get some coffee, and I’ll tell you. And then you can tell me what you said that made her cry.”

  “OK.”

  Chee shook his head. “Don’t look so worried. It’s not as terrible as you probably think.”

  She laughed. “Right. It’s probably worse.”

  26

  Chee poured them both some break room coffee. From the way it smelled, it had been sitting for a while, but he’d been well trained not to let anything go to waste.

  He sat across from her. “Where shall I start?”

  “Start at the end. Darleen’s program is over, but she didn’t come back with you. What’s up?”

  “She’s helping CS finish the video of the lady with sheep, and they are working on it tonight. She traded a drawing for a ride home and lunch with someone who is helping with the taping.”

  “Oh. Another person in the program?”

  “Ah, no. A man with a rich, deep voice. CS asked him to help with the narration.”

  Chee stopped at that. If Bernie had more questions, he’d give her the expanded version.

  “So tell me about CS and the death certificate and then weave in the parts about Darleen and what you think of the school.”

  “You know, when the Lieutenant told me about how he discovered that Clayton Secody was dead, I thought I’d misread CS, and that he was some kind of fraudster. But I was wrong. Can you believe it?”

  She could tell from the twinkle in his eye that a major story awaited her, but he stopped talking.

  Captain Largo walked into the break room and right to their table. He acknowledged Chee with a quick jut of his chin and focused on Bernie. “Manuelito, you’re not answering your phone. Or the radio, obviously. Agent Johnson needs to talk to you again.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call her.”

  “No. You need to go now. And put on your vest.”

  “Where? Why the protective gear?”

  “She’s working a hostage situation outside the Wings and Roots office.” Largo narrowed his eyebrows. “It’s that Franklin guy you found in the Malpais.”

  “He’s a hostage?”

  “No. He’s the one with the gun.”

  Chee stood.

  Largo looked at him. “Sit down, Sergeant. The feds are on this. And the rookie is already there. I’ve got a backlog of assignments for you when your shift starts, and if you want to get going early, that’s fine.”

  Bernie found Wilson Sam waiting by his unit, parked across the road from the Wings and Roots office to block further access. His excitement was palpable. He started talking before she got out of the car.

  “I responded to a 911 call that came in from a neighbor who said a man with a gun was acting crazy, pacing outside the agency’s office, talking to himself, maybe drunk or on drugs or something. When I drove up, I saw the dude open the door and go inside the building.”

  Bernie looked toward the office and the cluster of houses and outbuildings nearby, picturing the scene. A San Juan County sheriff’s car and several unmarked FBI units were pulled up close to the office.

  “So I walked up to the door. I knocked, but nobody answered, so then I yelled in and asked him why he was walking around crazy-like.”

  She pictured a neighbor, probably some older person or a woman home with a baby, peeking out at the pacing man, thinking it was odd. Looking again and again and then seeing the gun and calling the police. She could see the rookie arriving, lights flashing, blustering his way into the situation. “When did you get here?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “What did the man say when you asked him what he was doing?”

  “The guy said everything was really messed up, and it was all because of Wings and Roots. So I’m standing outside there, and I’m getting cold. I heard, like, an argument, and somebody else, a high voice—a girl or a woman—screaming ‘Don’t hurt me,’ stuff like that. I tried the door, but the dude must have locked it.” The rookie paced as he talked. “I told him to leave that person alone and come out or let me in so we could talk better. That was when he yelled at me to go away or he’d shoot her. And if I stayed, he’d shoot me, too.” He scowled at Bernie. “He told me to get the FBI because what he had to say was bigger than federal, state, and Navajo together. He said he would not hurt the hostage if the FBI would listen to him. So I said, ‘What’s the hostage got to do with this? Why don’t you send her out? She sounds scared.’”

  Obviously that tactic hadn’t worked, but Bernie played along. “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘No, she’s probably in on it.’ And I said ‘In on what?’ like they do on TV. He said something like ‘All the problems that weighed on Tom.’”

  “Tom or Dom?” Bernie asked.

  The rookie shrugged. “Something like that.” He gave her a cocky smile. “Now here comes the good part. I told him before I could do that, I needed to know who he was, his name, you know, because the FBI would ask me that. And I needed to know what he wanted.”

  “That was smart.” Bernie made a quick thumbs-up.

  “So he told me his name, Michael Frank
lin, and I radioed Largo. He called the FBI. The new FBI agent got here real quick, and when she saw what was up, she asked me to call Largo and get you.”

  “I’ve got to find Agent Johnson.”

  The rookie pointed toward the group of black cars with a turn of his head. “She’s over there. So you know this Franklin dude?”

  “I do.”

  She had to give the rookie credit. He’d done what was required, hadn’t made things worse, and no one was hurt. She pictured Cooper at her desk, Franklin pacing outside, building the courage to open the office door and talk to her, perhaps hoping to have her words ease his soul. Of all the people she’d interviewed about Domingo Cruz, Cooper and Franklin cared about him the most.

  Bernie kept her gaze on Agent Johnson as she approached the huddle of officers. A pickup blocked the other end of the street. A blue sedan she recognized as Cooper’s car was parked beyond it. Why would her car be there, so far from the Wings and Roots office?

  Johnson caught her eye and motioned her into the group of officers. Sam followed. The agent introduced her to the others—FBI agents and a San Juan County sheriff’s deputy. Manzanares was the only one she knew except Johnson, and he didn’t acknowledge her.

  “I guess you heard why you’re here.”

  “Sam said that Franklin wants to talk to me. I’m surprised that Rose Cooper hasn’t already solved this herself.”

  “Cooper? Who is that?”

  Bernie took a step back. “She’s the director of the Wings and Roots program.”

  “You mean the older woman over there?” Johnson pointed an index finger with a neatly shaped nail to Cooper, who was standing in the sun, far from the action.

  “Do you know who the hostage is?”

  “A Navajo teenager working as a volunteer for the program.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Anna Rainsalot.”

  Bernie sucked in a breath. “Do you mean Annie Rainsong?”

  Johnson gave her a sour look, rechecked her notes. “Yes, that’s right.”

  The rookie was talking now. “What is that kid doing there? I mean, shouldn’t she be in school? Maybe it’s already winter break. Or maybe she’s a senior or something and gets credit for volunteering?”