There was still much noise and many flashing lights. The -People called the noise Bebethki—-Thunder—-and the flashing lights, Wepgih—-Lightning.
The -People were so excited to have Fire that they forgot all about Bat. The next day they went looking for him. They found poor Nanakumal hanging limp in a tree. He had not one feather left. Tash had burned Bat black, all the way to the skin. Bat was so ashamed of how he looked that no one could coax him into showing himself. That is why, nawoj, my friend, even to this day, Bat comes out only at night.
AS THE NIGHT SOUNDS OF distant traffic hummed in the background, Brandon’s thoughts returned to that Sunday afternoon summons that had taken him from Gates Pass in the Tucson Mountains on the far west side of town to the base of the Catalinas on the far east side.
That day, as he drove, he’d kept a wary eye on the weather and the less--than--optimal road conditions. Redington Pass Road was primitive to begin with, and summer rains had made it virtually impassable in spots. Not only that; a wall of white and gray thunderclouds was boiling up on the back side of the mountains, rolling in from the southeast. If a gully washer was in the offing, Brandon knew he’d be lucky to get to the crime scene and even luckier to make it back home. And if the medical examiner’s folks were very far behind him, they might be no--shows altogether.
It took the better part of two hours from the time he left home before Brandon finally spotted a light blue Land Cruiser parked alongside the road. A man and a woman stood leaning against each of the front fenders. Brandon pulled up alongside the vehicle and rolled down the window.
“Are you the folks who called the sheriff’s department?”
Nodding, the woman stepped forward. She was young and blond, with windblown hair and a peeling sunburned face, complete with a freckled nose. “I’m Suzanne Holder, and this is my partner, Kent Perkins.”
Kent didn’t seem any too happy. “Took you long enough,” he muttered glumly, peering over his shoulder at the tower of clouds marching toward them. “I was expecting lights and sirens. That storm’s going to be here any minute.”
Brandon put his Plymouth in Park and stepped out of the vehicle, proffering his ID wallet as he did so. “I was told these were skeletal remains,” he said, “so it’s not exactly a life--and--death situation. As you can see from my ID, I’m Detective Brandon Walker with the Pima County Sheriff’s Department. What have you got here?”
Suzanne studied the badge and ID before handing it back. “Don’t mind Kent,” she said with a laugh. “He’s a city slicker from California. He always translates times and distances in terms of freeways.”
“So what have you found?” Brandon prodded. “And what brought you out here in the first place?”
Suzanne answered the second question first. “We’re grad students in anthropology at the University of Arizona. In the past -couple of years there have been lots of unsubstantiated rumors about Papago artifacts being found in this area. The problem is, the San Pedro is a long way from the Papago’s traditional haunts. There were far more Apaches here in the past than there were Papagos. So for the past few weeks, Kent and I have been spending a lot of time out in this area, trying to sort out those rumors once and for all.”
“Is there a chance that’s what the remains in question are all about?” Brandon asked. “Maybe they’re Indian artifacts, too.”
“I doubt it,” she said.
“How about if I have a look? How far is it?”
“A mile and a half,” she answered, “maybe two.”
“Can you lead me there?”
“Of course,” Suzanne responded. “Kent can wait here and flag down the M.E. Here are the keys,” she added, tossing a key ring in his direction.
Dance of the Bones
J. A. Jance's books
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