He had picked them out of the drawer, inspected them, and found them in fair condition. A little tight around the stomach, as he remembered, but he had lost a little weight eating his own cooking. One room with two beds. He'd folded them in. And then he had been overpowered by the desolation of this empty, silent house, and the knowledge of loss and loneliness. He had gone out into the darkness, and walked up the gravel street. When he became aware that his feet were hurting, he sat on a boulder where he could watch the last half of the moon rising over the ridge east of Window Rock, and the occasional car rolling down the highway toward Fort Defiance. Finally, when even the highway was silent and the moon was high and the cold had seeped up his pant legs and down the back of his jacket, he got up and walked stiffly home.
In his real office now he felt the lack of sleep. He glanced at his in-basket. It had collected a stack of notes and mail in the days he'd spent working at Thoreau and Tano. But that stack could wait. So could everything else except the Eric Dorsey homicide. He had just a day left to work on that before he left.
He picked up the telephone receiver and buzzed Chee's number. He'd talk to Chee about what he'd learned at Tano. If nothing else, it would help him judge Chee's intelligence. The memo Chee had left him showed good instincts. He'd sensed that the people at Tano had seen something Chee had missed. Maybe the boy would come up with something from the Lincoln Cane business.
But Chee didn't answer his telephone. Leaphorn buzzed Virginia.
"Just a minute," she said. "I think there's a note in the overnight file." The minute passed. "He called in. He said he's been working on that Todachene vehicular homicide case. He said he has to take the rest of the week off. He's going to charge it to his annual leave time." Virginia's tone had become disapproving. "I didn't see any paperwork on that," she said. "Did you put through the paperwork?"
"Did he leave a number where I can reach him?"
"There's not a thing about that here," she said. "You want me to call the Shiprock office?"
"Please," Leaphorn said. "And let me know." It wouldn't do any good, but it would get Virginia off his telephone.
He hung up, feeling sleepy and disgruntled. This absence-without-permission business exactly fit Chee's reputation. When the kid had worked out of Tuba City, Captain Largo used to complain about the trouble he had getting Chee to follow regulations. At Crownpoint it had been the same story. There his brains had gotten him acting sergeant stripes when he was still green, and his habit of doing his own thing had gotten him busted just as fast.
Ah, well, Leaphorn thought, it was worth the gamble. In this office it didn't matter so much. Less routine and more innovative thinking required. Maybe he could get Chee saddle-broken just a little bit, just enough to keep him. But where the hell could he be? Could Chee still be trying to work as a hataalii? Maybe that was it. Maybe Chee had found a customer and was off doing a curing ceremonial someplace. If he was still doing the Blessing Way-the full eight days of the ceremonial-that could become a real problem.
His telephone buzzed.
"Leaphorn," he said.
It was Virginia. "The chief wants to talk to you. Line two."
He punched two.
"Yes sir," he said. And then he listened, placid at first, then frowning.
"Yeah," he said. "Yes sir. I didn't actually hear it but I read about it. I was over at Flagstaff. There was a piece about it in the Arizona Republic. Hell of a funny." He stopped, interrupted. The frown converted into consternation.
"In the tape player on my radio?" He looked at the radio. The tape player was empty. "Let me get this straight," Leaphorn said.
"Sergeant Yazzie was walking by my office and he heard this tape playing in my office. And that was before it was broadcast by KNDN? Is that what you're telling me?"
Leaphorn listened. "Be damned if I know," he said. "There's no tape in there now. Did somebody come in here and take it?"
Listened again, the frown resolving itself into a stolid anger. "All right," he said. "I'll be right down."
He trotted down the stairs. The chiefs door was open. Bennie Redhair, who served as the chief's secretary and gofer, was sitting behind his desk looking very, very nervous. His smile at Leaphorn came out more like a grimace. Beyond him in the inner office was Councilman Jimmy Chester, wearing a black hat with a silver band, sitting across the desk from the chief. Councilman Chester glowered at Leaphorn. The chiefs expression, as he motioned Leaphorn in, was a mixture of worry and puzzlement.
"Close the door behind you," the chief said. Leaphorn closed it.
When he came out it was almost thirty minutes later. He climbed the stairs slowly and eased himself into his swivel chair-staring at the radio. How could this have happened? The specifics were obvious-to him if not to Councilman Chester and the chief. Someone had come in, put a tape of that telephone wiretap in his radio tape player, and turned it on.
And left it turned on for a while, apparently, because Yazzie's report said he had heard parts of it at least twice. Once walking down the hall, and once on his return trip. Then, after the notorious broadcast over KNDN up in Kirtland had stirred up an uproar, Yazzie remembered what he had heard. He'd reported it. A check was made and the tape was found, still in Leaphorn's radio.
The question, of course, was who, and why. Leaphorn hadn't the faintest idea of how to answer either question. The councilman had no such problem. He knew the answers. Leaphorn was the who, and the why was to destroy the councilman's reputation. Just why would Leaphorn want to do that? Because the councilman, as chairman of the Justice Committee, had opposed the idea of setting up Leaphorn's separate Special Investigations Office. And because he suspected Leaphorn was one of the tree huggers fighting the waste dump proposal. And because way back years ago one of Leaphorn's maternal uncles had lost a grazing-rights dispute with the councilman over in the Checkerboard Reservation. And what was to be done about this misconduct? The councilman wanted Leaphorn charged with illegally tapping his telephone, a third-degree felony. He wanted Leaphorn dismissed from the Navajo Tribal Police for using his office to interfere in the politics of the Navajo Nation.
It ended, as such affairs always seem to end, with an unhappy compromise. The chief would assign Captain Dodge to handle an investigation-to determine exactly what had happened and to collect the evidence needed to prosecute the guilty party.
"Investigation,". Councilman Chester had snorted. "That can drag on forever."
They had thought about that for a moment, with Leaphorn thinking that Chester, having presided over many of them himself in thirty years on the council, should know.
And so it was decided that Captain Dodge would be given ten days to wrap it up and report.
"And how about him?" the councilman had asked, nodding toward Leaphorn.
The lieutenant, said the chief, would be ordered to cooperate fully with the investigators, to make himself available at all times, to provide all relevant information.
"Come on," Councilman Chester had said. "Give me a break. He's one of the top brass around here. What kind of cooperation is Dodge going to get in this department with him looking over everybody's shoulders?"
"Lieutenant Leaphorn will be off duty until this investigation is completed," the chief said.
And with that Councilman Jimmy Chester left, slamming the door behind him.
"That mean I'm suspended?" Leaphorn asked. And, of course, that had been exactly what it meant.
He sat now thinking of what this suspension would mean. For one thing, all of this meant he couldn't follow his instinct to cross-examine everyone in the building. Surely someone would have seen somebody come up here and get into his office. And if they hadn't, that too would tell him something. But he couldn't do that now. Captain Dodge would be doing it. Leaphorn wished someone a little brighter had been picked. Why Dodge? He was always reliable. And come to think of it, he was also one of the Towering House Clan. And so was Councilman Chester. Which explained why Chester had seemed mode
rately satisfied with the deal, and why the chief had picked Dodge.
Where the hell was Chee when he needed him? Leaphorn got up and peered absent-mindedly out into the parking lot. No sign of Chee's always muddy pickup truck. What if Chee had done it? Leaphorn considered that. Chester had labeled Leaphorn a tree hugger, but it was Chee who wanted something done to stop the waste dump, and Chee who wanted this office to go on a corruption hunt. Chee was always in and out of his office, but so were Dodge, and Virginia, and Yazzie, and just about everybody else. Chee had the opportunity. How about motive? Leaphorn considered that.
The young man resented him, that was plain, but Chee also respected him. Liked him, too. And he was way too damned smart to do an illegal wiretap and then be so careless with it. It wouldn't be Chee. How about Yazzie? Nope. Yazzie was a friend, sort of a protege, and a member of Emma's clan. Dodge? Maybe. But only if Councilman Chester had somehow engaged Dodge in some sort of weird conspiracy to discredit Leaphorn. He could think of no possible scenario for that.
And so he dropped it and did what he had been dreading to do. He picked up the telephone, got an outside line, gave the operator his AT&T calling card number, and dialed Professor Louisa Bourebonette.
She would understand why he couldn't go, but she would be disappointed. "I like to travel," she had told him. "But it can really remind you of your loneliness. When you're tired, and you're having trouble with the language, and you've gone all day with not a soul to talk to, then it really hits you."
The telephone in Louisa's faculty office rang, and rang, and rang. No classes this morning, he remembered. She would be at home. He dialed again, thinking how he would put it. He would want her to know he simply had to cancel until this was over. With even a hint of a criminal investigation aimed at him, he couldn't leave, and he certainly couldn't leave the country. But he wouldn't want her to worry. He'd already done too much to take the fun out of this trip for her.
On the fourth ring, her answering machine kicked in-her pleasant voice telling him to leave a message after the tone. Well, maybe it was better this way.
"Louisa," he said. "This is Joe. Bad news. I'm sort of suspected of being involved in that Councilman Jimmy Chester telephone tapping thing. The one in the paper where it sounded like Chester was soliciting a bribe. I'm under orders to stay here until it's cleared up. If it can be cleared up fast I could still make it, but that's about one chance in a million. So if it doesn't drag on too long, I'll try to catch a later flight and join you in Beijing." But there was no real chance of that, and she would know it.
He paused, searching for something to say, knowing that he wouldn't be taking a later flight. Things didn't work out that way with him. "Louisa. I feel terrible about this. I'm really going to miss you." He paused again. To his surprise, he found himself thinking that he might say a lot more than that. He might say I think I love you, or maybe even I love you. But then the answering machine clicked off.
21
LEAPHORN HUNG UP the telephone and looked at his watch, unusually conscious of time. He might be finished with the Navajo Tribal Police. If the person who had set him up had planned it carefully, Leaphorn might never really be cleared of doubts. In that event he would resign, and if he did, he wanted no loose ends left behind him. He had a possible hook now on the Eric Dorsey homicide. At least he thought he did. He wanted to know.
For Captain Dodge, he typed one of the detailed memos for which he was noted. In three precise, single-spaced pages he provided a chronology covering every step that might apply, answering every question he thought Dodge would be asking, suggesting people Dodge might want to contact. Finished, he read it through carefully, thought a moment, and stuck the final page back into the typewriter.
I will stay out of this office, of course, until this matter is resolved, but I will check in with you periodically in the event I am needed.
He signed it, stuck the sheets into an envelope, dropped his office key into it, sealed it, and addressed it to Captain Dodge. On his way out, he handed it to Virginia.
Virginia looked uncharacteristically solemn. She glanced at the envelope, and up at Leaphorn, raising her eyebrows in an unspoken question.
"I'm going to tell you something," he said. "And then I am going to ask you for a favor."
"Something bad has happened, hasn't it," she said.
"Bad enough," Leaphorn said. "By tomorrow morning, the word is going to get out that I've been suspended. What I want-"
Virginia's expression stopped him. It went from shock, to sorrow, to anger, and the intensity of it surprised him. Virginia is my friend, he thought. Really a friend. Why hadn't he appreciated that before? Why was he so blind about such important things?
"Suspended," she said.
"It has to do with that Councilman Chester telephone call. The one that was broadcast."
"That son-of-a-bitch," she said. "I thought it would be him."
"We'll get it worked out," Leaphorn said. "But until we do I could use your help."
"Anything," Virginia said.
"About tomorrow, I'd guess, you're going to be hearing rumors about this. Captain Dodge is going to have to be asking around, questioning people, so it won't be hard to figure out that an investigation is going on and that I'm the target of it. Word will be leaking out. What would help me a lot would be if you could sort of slow it down. When people call to ask, could you laugh it off? Could you maybe make them think it's just another rumor?"
"I'll tell 'em it's a damned lie," Virginia said. "I'll tell 'em nobody would be that crazy. Not even this bunch." She held her hand out to him. It took him a second to understand the gesture, then he took it, and felt his hand being squeezed.
"What about the trip?" she said. "To China. You were going tomorrow."
Leaphorn shrugged.
"Those bastards," she said. "Don't they have any sense?"
He patted her on the shoulder. "Ah, come on, Virginia. The chiefs just doing his job."
Leaphorn called the Crownpoint office from home. Lieutenant Toddy had left for home but the dispatcher said he would get the message to him.
"It's 'Meet Lieutenant Leaphorn at Saint Bonaventure Mission at ten tomorrow morning'? Is that right? And bring the key to Dorsey's office and his Dorsey file."
"Right," Leaphorn said. He tried Louisa's Flagstaff number again, aroused the answering machine, and could think of nothing to add to what he'd already told it. He sat in the gathering darkness with no motivation to switch on the light, or the television, or to begin unpacking his bags. He thought about the tape and how it might have come to be. Roger Applebee, the lobbyist for Nature First, was the only one he could think of whose cause would be helped.
He called the Navajo Nation Inn. Yes, Roger Applebee was registered. He was in room 127. No, Roger Applebee didn't answer his telephone. Leaphorn picked up his car keys and walked out to the driveway. He'd go to the Navajo Inn for a hamburger or something. Maybe Applebee would be having dinner.
Most of the parking spaces along the two-story wing that held room 127 were empty, but at Applebee's door a dark blue Range Rover was parked. Leaphorn stopped his car behind it. A decal on the back displayed a picture of earth as NASA's big blue marble. The legend read, IT'S THE ONLY HOME WE HAVE. Probably Applebee's car.
Leaphorn moved his car forward, planning to park and knock at the door. Then he saw a man-a big man who looked vaguely familiar- turn the corner and come hurrying down the walk toward him. Leaphorn let his car roll, parked it a half-dozen spaces down.
The big man stopped at 127 and tried the knob. Then he knocked, knocked again, rattled the knob, turned to inspect the Range Rover briefly, and then pounded on the door.
Leaphorn joined him.
"I'm looking for Mr. Applebee," Leaphorn said. "Seems like he's not home."
The big man looked at Leaphorn, glanced back at the Range Rover. "That's his car," he said. "He can't be far away."
"Maybe in the dining room," Leaphorn said. He recognized
the man now, but the name eluded him. He was a trader. One of those buyers and sellers of things ancient, odd, or beautiful. One of those who show up at tribal fairs, rug auctions, ceremonials, even postfuneral family gatherings looking for the sort of things for which collectors are willing to pay big money and for which they will offer very little money. With that thought came recognition.
This was Asher Davis, one of the exceptions. Mister Fair Price.
The first time he'd heard the name was at a coffee shop in Tuba City, at least twenty years ago. Captain Largo, young and thin then and a sergeant, telling an old woman not to sell her grandfather's concha belt until she could ask Asher Davis what it was worth.
Tony Hillerman - Leaphorn & Chee 11 - Sacred Clowns Page 17
