The First Eagle jlajc-13

by Tony Hillerman

  "That's where it would be," Chee said, pointing.

  Leaphorn nodded. "I've been doing nothing for about a week but sitting in a car seat. Give me the shovel. I need a little exercise."

  "Well, now," Chee said, but he surrendered the shovel. For a Navajo as traditional as Chee, digging for a corpse in a death hogan wasn't a task done lightly. It would require at least a sweat bath and, more properly, a curing ceremony, to restore the violator of such taboos to hozho.

  "Easy digging," Leaphorn said, tossing aside his sixth spadeful. A few moments later he stopped, put aside the shovel, squatted beside the hole. He dug with his hands.

  He turned and looked at Chee. "I guess we have found Catherine Pollard," he said. He pulled out a forearm clad in the white plastic of her PAPR suit and brushed away the earth. "She's still wearing her double set of protective gloves."

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  DR. WOODY OPENED HIS DOOR at the second knock. He said: "Good morning, gentlemen," leaned against the doorway and motioned them in. He was wearing walking shorts and a sleeveless undershirt. It seemed to Leaphorn that the odd pink skin color he'd noticed when he'd first met the man was a tone redder. "I think this is what they call serendipity, or a fortunate accident. Anyway, I'm glad you're here."

  "And why is that?" Leaphorn asked.

  "Have a seat first," Woody said. He swayed, supported himself with a hand against the wall, then pointed Leaphorn to the chair and Chee to a narrow bed, now folded out of the wall. He seated himself on the stool beside the lab working area. "Now," he said, "I'm glad to see you because I need a ride. I need to get to Tuba City and make some telephone calls. Normally, I would drive this thing. But it's hard to drive. I'm feeling pretty bad. Dizzy. Last time I took my temp it was almost one hundred and four. I was afraid I wouldn't make it out."

  "We'll be glad to take you," Chee said. "But first we need to get answers to some questions."

  "Sure," Woody said. "But later. After we get going. And one of you will have to stay here and take care of things." He leaned forward over the table and ran his hand over his face. Leaphorn now noticed a dark discoloration under his arm, spreading down the rib cage under the undershirt.

  "Hell of a bruise there on your side," Leaphorn said. "We should get you to a hospital."

  "Unfortunately, it's not a bruise. It's the capillaries breaking down under the skin. Releases the blood into the tissue. We'll go to the Medical Center at Flagstaff. But first I have to do some telephoning. And someone should stay here. Look after things. The animals in the cages. The files."

  "We found the body of Catherine Pollard buried out there," Chee said, "Do you know anything about that?"

  "I buried her," Woody said. "But, dammit, we don't have time to talk about that now. I can tell you about it while we're driving to Tuba City. But I've got to get there before I'm too sick to talk, and these cell phones won't work out here."

  "Did you kill her?"

  "Sure," Woody said. "You want to know why?"

  "I think I could guess," Chee said.

  "Silly woman didn't give me a choice. I told her she couldn't exterminate that dog colony and I told her why. They might hold the key to saving millions of lives." Woody laughed. "She said I'd lied to her once and that was all she allowed."

  "Lied," Chee said. "You told her the rodents weren't infected. Was that it?"

  Woody nodded. "She put on her protective suit and was getting ready to pump cyanide dust into the burrow when I stopped her. And then the cop saw me burying her."

  "You killed him, too?" Chee said.

  Woody nodded. "Same problem. Exactly the same. I can't let anything interfere with this," he said, gesturing around the lab. Then he produced a weak chuckle, shook his head. "But something is. It's the disease itself. Isn't that ironic? This new, improved, drug-resistant version of Yersinia pestis is making me another lab specimen."

  He was reaching into a drawer as he said that. When his hand came out it held a long-barreled pistol. Probably .22 caliber, Chee guessed. The right size for shooting rodents, but not something anyone wanted to be shot with.

  "I just don't have time for this," Woody said. "You stay here," he said to Leaphorn. "Look after things. I'll ride with Lieutenant Chee. We'll send somebody back to take over when I get to the telephone."

  Chee looked at the pistol, then at Woody. His own revolver was in the holster on his hip. But he wasn't going to need it.

  "I'll tell you what we're going to do," Chee said. "We're going to take Mr. Leaphorn with us. As soon as we get out of this radio blind spot, we'll call an ambulance to meet us. I'll send out a patrolman to take care of this place. We'll turn on the siren and get to Tuba City fast."

  Chee stood and took a step toward the door and opened it. "Come on," he said to Woody. "You're looking sicker and sicker."

  "I want him to stay," Woody said, and waved the pistol toward Leaphorn. Chee reached and grabbed the gun out of Woody's hand and handed it to Leaphorn. "Come on," he said. "Hurry."

  Woody was in no condition to hurry. Chee had to half-carry him to the patrol car.

  They raised the dispatcher just as they bounced away from the radio shadow of Yells Back Butte. Chee told him to send an ambulance down the road to Goldtooth and an officer to guard Woody's mobile lab at the butte. Leaphorn sat in the back with Woody, and Woody talked.

  He'd found two fleas in his groin area when he awakened the day before and immediately redosed himself with an antibiotic, hoping the fleas, if infected at all, were carrying the unmutated bacteria. By this morning a fever had developed. He knew then that he had the form that resisted medication and had killed Nez so quickly. He had hurriedly compiled his most recent notes in readable form, put away breakable items, stored the blood samples he'd been working on in the refrigerator for preservation and started the engine. But by then he felt so dizzy that he knew he couldn't drive the big vehicle out. So he'd begun a note explaining where he stood in the project, to be passed along to an associate at the Center for Control of Infectious Diseases.

  "It's there in the folder on the desk with his name on it—a microbiologist named Roy Bobbin Hovey. But I forgot to mention that he'll want an autopsy. The name and number are in my wallet in case I'm out of it before we get to a telephone. Tell him to do the autopsy. He'll know what organs to check."

  "Your organs?" Leaphorn asked.

  Woody's chin had dropped down to his breastbone. "Of course," he mumbled. "Who else?"

  Chee was driving far too fast for the washboard road and watching in the rearview mirror.

  "How were you able to hit Officer Kinsman on the head?" he asked. "Why didn't he cuff you?"

  "He was careless," Woody said. "I said, Aren't you going to put those handcuffs on me, and when he twisted around to reach for them, that's when I hit him."

  "Then when we left with Kinsman, you drove the Jeep out and abandoned it and poured the blood on the seat so it would look like a murder-kidnapping? Right? And took your bicycle along so you could ride it back from there? Is that right?"

  But by then, Dr. Woody had drifted off into unconsciousness. Or perhaps he didn't think the answer mattered.

  They met the ambulance about ten miles from Moenkopi, warned the attendants that Woody was probably in the final stages of bubonic plague and sent it racing off toward the Northern Arizona Medical Center. At his station, Chee fished out the note from Woody's wallet, left Leaphorn talking with Claire, and disappeared into his office to make the telephone call.

  He emerged looking angry, flopped into a chair across from Leaphorn, wiped his forehead, and said: "Whew, what a day."

  "Did you get the man?" Leaphorn asked.

  "Yeah. Dr. Hovey said he'll fly out to Flagstaff today."

  "Quite a shock, I guess," Leaphorn said. "Learning your associate is a double murderer."

  "That didn't seem to bother him. He asked about Woody's condition, and his notes, and who was looking after his papers, and where he could pick them up, and were t
hey being cared for, and how about the animals he was working with, and was the prairie dog colony safe."

  "Like that, huh?"

  "Pissed me off, to tell the truth," Chee said. "I said I hoped we could keep the sonofabitch alive until we can try him for killing two people. And that irritated him. He sort of snorted and said: 'Two people. We're trying to save all of humanity.'"

  Leaphorn sighed. "Matter of fact, I think Woody was trying to save humanity."

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  FOR CHEE, the next hours were occupied by the work of wrapping it up. He called the Northern Arizona Medical Center, got the emergency room supervisor, and told the woman Woody was en route in an ambulance and what to expect. Then he called the FBI office in Phoenix. Agent Reynald was occupied. He got Agent Edgar Evans instead.

  "This is Jim Chee," he said. "I want to report that the man who killed Officer Ben Kinsman is in custody. His name is Woody. He is a medical doctor, and a—"

  "Hold it! Hold it!" Evans said. "What're ya talking about?"

  "The arrest this morning of the man who killed Kinsman," Chee said. "You better take notes because your boss will be asking questions. After being read his rights, Dr. Woody made a full confession of the assault on Kinsman to me, in the presence of Joe Leaphorn. He also confessed to the murder of Catherine Pollard, a vector control specialist employed by the Indian Health Service. Woody is critically ill and is now en route to the hospital at Flag in an amb—"

  "What the hell is this?" Evans said. "Some kind of joke?"

  "In an ambulance," Chee continued. "I recommend you pass this information along to Reynald, so he can get it to Mickey, so Mickey can drop the charges against Jano," Chee said. "If you want to do a television spectacular with this, the Navajo Police office at Tuba City can tell you where you can find the Pollard body and the details you need about how you, the FBI, solved this crime."

  "Hold it, Chee," Evans said. "What kind of—"

  "No time for silly questions," Chee said, and hung up.

  Next he worked his way down the list of law enforcement agencies put to work by J. D. Mickey on the Kinsman case and gave them the pertinent information. Then he called the Public Defender Service in Phoenix. He got the office secretary. Ms. Pete was not in. Ms. Pete had left about an hour ago en route to Tuba City. Yes, there was a telephone in her car. Yes, she would notify Ms. Pete that she should contact him at Tuba City to receive information critical to the Jano case.

  "I think she was going to Tuba to talk to you, Lieu tenant Chee," the secretary said. "But this 'critical information.' She'll ask me about that."

  "Tell Ms. Pete she was right about the Kinsman case. I arrested the wrong man. Now we have the right one."

  Then he called Leaphorn's room at the motel. No answer. He called the desk.

  "He's over at the diner," the clerk said. "He said if you called to come on over and join him."

  Leaphorn had been busy, too. First he had called the law firm of Peabody, Snell and Click and persuaded a receptionist that he should be allowed to talk to Mr. Peabody himself. He'd told Peabody the circumstances and suggested that, in view of Mrs. Vanders's fragile health, someone close to her should break the news to her. He'd explained that Miss Pollard's body would not be released to the family until the crime scene crew exhumed it properly and the required autopsy had been completed. He'd given him the names of those who could provide further information.

  That done, he had called Louisa and recited into her answering machine the details of what had happened. He'd told her he was checking out, would drive back to Window Rock, and would call her from there tomorrow. Then he'd taken a shower, rescued what was left of the soap and shampoo from the bathroom to add to his emergency supply, packed, left a message for Chee at the desk, and strolled over to the diner to eat.

  He was enjoying the diner's version of a Navajo taco and watching a Nike commercial on the wall-mounted television when Lieutenant Chee walked in, spotted Leaphorn and came over. He moved Leaphorn's bag from a chair and sat.

  "You leaving town?"

  "Home to Window Rock," Leaphorn said. "Back to washing my own dishes, doing the laundry, being a housewife," He had to speak up because the Nike ad had been followed by a used-car commercial, which involved noise and shouting.

  "I wanted to thank you for the help," Chee said.

  Leaphorn nodded. "I thank you in return. It was mutual. Like old times."

  "Anyway, if I can ever—"

  But now he was talking over a promo for what the Phoenix station called a news break. A pretty young man was telling them there had been a startling development in the Ben Kinsman murder case and he would take them to Alison Padilla, who was "live at the federal building."

  Alison was not as pretty as the anchorman, but she seemed competent. She told them that Acting Assistant U.S. Attorney J. D. Mickey had called a press conference a bit earlier. She would let him speak for himself. Mr. Mickey, looking stern, got right to the point.

  "The Federal Bureau of Investigation has taken into custody a suspect in the homicide of Officer Benjamin Kinsman and in the death of an Indian Health Service employee who has been missing for several days. The FBI has also developed information which verifies statements made by Robert Jano, who had previously been arrested by the Navajo Tribal police and charged with the Kinsman murder. Charges against Mr. Jano will now be dismissed. More information will be released as details become available."

  While Mickey was reading this, Officer Bernadette Manuelito walked in. Chee waved her over, pointed to a seat. Mickey was now waving off questions and ending the conference, and the camera switched back to Ms. Padilla, who began providing background information.

  "Lieutenant," Officer Manuelito said. "Mrs. Dineyahze asked me to tell you the U.S. Attorney's office is trying to reach you." She pointed to the screen. "Him."

  "Okay," Chee said. "Thanks."

  "And the U.S. Public Defender Service. They said it was urgent."

  "Okay," Chee said again. "And, Bernie, you remember Mr. Leaphorn, don't you? From when we were both working at Shiprock? Have a seat. Join us."

  Bernie smiled at Leaphorn and said she had to get back to the station. "But did you hear what that man said? I think that's awful. He made it sound like we screwed up."

  Chee shrugged.

  "It's not fair," she said.

  "They tend to do that," Leaphorn said. "That's why a lot of the real cops resent the federals."

  "Well, anyway, I just think—" Bernie paused, looking for the words to express her indignation.

  Chee wanted to change the subject. He said: "Bernie, when did you say they were having the kinaalda for your cousin? Now that we have the FBI handling the Kinsman case, I'm not going to be so busy. Would it still be okay if I came?"

  The beeper in her belt holster made its unpleasant noise. "It would be okay," Bernie said, and hurried out the door.

  Leaphorn picked up his check, looked at it, fished out his wallet and dropped a dollar tip on the table. "That drive from here to Window seems to get longer and longer," he said. "Got to get moving."

  But at the door he paused to shake hands with a woman coming in and chat for a moment. He pointed back into the room and disappeared. Janet Pete had arrived from Phoenix.

  She stood in the doorway a moment, scanning the tables. She wore boots and a long skirt with a patterned blouse, and her silky hair was cut short like the chic women on the television shows wore theirs these days. She looked tired, Chee thought, and tense, but still so beautiful that he closed his eyes for a moment and looked away.

  When he looked again, she was walking toward him, her expression saying she was glad she had found him. But it revealed nothing else.

  Chee stood, pulled back a chair for her and said: "I guess you got the message."

  "The message, but not the meaning." She sat, adjusted her skirt. "What does it mean?"

  Chee told her how they had found Pollard's body, about Woody's confession that he had killed Ki
nsman when Kinsman found him burying the woman, about Woody's desperate sickness. She listened without a word. "Mickey was just on television announcing the murder charge against your client is being dropped," Chee said. "Nothing left now but the 'poaching an endangered species' charge. It's a second offense, done while on probation for the first one. But under the circumstances I'd imagine the judge will just sentence Jano to the time he's already spent locked up waiting for the big trial."

  Janet was looking at her hands folded on the table in front of her. "Nothing left but that," she said. "That and the wreckage."

  He waited for an explanation. None came. She simply looked at him quizzically.

  "Let me get you a cup," Chee said. He pushed back his chair, but she shook her head. "I got your call about the eagle being tested," Chee said. "I intended to call you back, but things got too busy. How did it come out? Mickey made it sound like they found blood."

  "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

  "Well, sure," Chee said. "It would be nice to know Mr. Jano wasn't lying to us."

  "I haven't seen the report yet," Janet said.

  He sipped his coffee, watching her. The ball was in her court.

  She took a deep breath.

  "Jim. How long had you known about this Woody? That he'd killed Kinsman?"

  "Not very long," Chee said, wondering where this was leading.

  "Before you told me about catching the eagle?"

  "No. Not until this morning." She looked down at her hands again. Calculating all this, he thought. Adding it up. Searching for a conclusion. She found it.

  "I want to know why you told me you'd taped Reynald's telephone call."

  "Why not?"

  "Why not!" The anger showed in her face as well as her voice. "Because as you certainly knew I am a sworn officer of the court in this case. You tell me you have committed a crime." She threw up her hands. "What did you think I would do?"