Chee waited for what Bahe would say next. In the Navajo tradition, if something was important, you mentioned it four times.
Bahe scanned his computer screen. “Melissa Goldfarb, thirty-five. Blond, five foot five, one-twenty pounds. Her boss says she drove off in a red Chevy Cruze. You could do some nosing around about her first before you actually have to go searching. Maybe she decided to head back to California because she got bored or overworked or angry about something.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“Only twelve hours. These movies folks already sent their own security man, but he couldn’t find her. Evidently she’s not the type to go psycho, so her boss is worried she’s lost or hurt or something out there.”
Usually the police waited forty-eight hours before looking for a missing adult. Bahe read Chee’s expression. “The Tribal Council delegate from around here worked hard to get the movie. Nobody wants any bad publicity out of this. And the guy who called, a producer named Delahart, vaguely threatened to go to those entertainment news shows and tell America what a dangerous place the valley is unless we help them with the search.”
Chee said. “Wouldn’t it be better to send someone else if she’s really lost out there? I mean, someone who knows the area?”
“Darn right. But I don’t have anybody else, so you’re my guy.” Bahe grinned. “What do you say?”
“Sure thing.” He’d figure out how to tell Bernie. “If I start today, you think I could leave a few days early?”
“You never know.” He stood and handed Chee a set of keys. “I’m thinking this is a publicity stunt they’ll spin to have something to do with zombies. But Delahart was a good enough actor to convince me to check it out. The unit’s out back. Be careful. I remember your driving from Tuba and the problem with that lawyer’s car. What was that gal’s name?”
“Janet Peet. That accident could have happened to anybody. Her little dream ride had a lot of problems.”
“And a few more when you finished with it.”
“How do I find this Delahart guy?”
“Easy. Take the loop road into the park, and right before Ford Point you’ll see some yellow and black signs that read ‘TUR.’ ”
“TUR?”
“It stands for The Undead Return. The name of the movie.”
Chee liked the SUV Bahe had loaned him, a newer unit than the one he used at Shiprock. Nice ride. The air conditioning blew hot air on his feet and at his face, but it turned cool by the time he’d adjusted the seat, positioned the mirrors, and clicked on his seat belt.
Now that he was looking for them, Chee noticed the small yellow signs. Why, he wondered, hadn’t the lost woman, Melissa, just followed the signs back to base camp? He doubted that she was lost. More likely she’d had an argument with a boyfriend or somebody in the company and taken off. Or maybe she wanted a change of scene and drove into Kayenta or over to Mexican Hat.
Chee cruised down a sandy wash, up a hill, and around a few curves, picking his way through the ruts, holes, and rocks on the exhausted dirt road. The route had been designed to offer fairly close views of the magnificent sandstone formations and, not coincidentally, several wide, safe parking areas where visitors could pause for photos and buy jewelry, pottery, cold drinks, and souvenirs from local families who set up tables to sell their wares.
A little sign indicated the turnoff, and a few minutes beyond that he saw the movie base camp. A pale-green late-model sedan of some sort was parked just outside of the camp entrance. As he drew closer, a man with a ball cap climbed out and hailed him.
“Yá’át’ééh, Officer. What can I do for you?” The parking attendant had a name badge that read “Gerald.”
“Yá’át’ééh. I’m looking for the man in charge, a gentleman named Delahart.”
Gerald took off his cap, rubbed his head, put the hat back on. “You don’t want to talk to that guy, and he’s not here anyway. Mr. Robinson is the supervisor. He can help you. Drive straight in and park by the trailer that says ‘Production Office.’ Just ignore the No Parking signs.”
“You might be able to help with something else.” Chee paused, making sure he had Gerald’s attention. “A woman could be missing. Somebody named Melissa Goldfarb. Did you see her leave?”
Gerald shook his head. “I just got here for the night shift. Missy is missing? No kidding? So are you working with Officer Tsinnie?”
“I’m just filling in for a few days. I haven’t met him, or anybody at the station yet, except Captain Bahe and Monica.” Tsinnie was a fairly common name; Chee knew several Officer Tsinnies.
“Him’s a her.” Gerald chuckled. “But I’m sure she’s been called worse.”
Chee pulled up close to a group of structures and parked near an unlit trailer with a sign that read “Production Office.” Beyond he saw a larger trailer, lights on inside and a standing figure profiled in the doorway. The person trotted down the steps and up to the car, not even waiting for Chee to turn off the engine.
“Officer, I’m glad you’re here.” The man was tall, something over six feet. He stooped over to speak into the window. “Greg Robinson, assistant producer.”
Robinson moved with the grace of a person who stayed in shape. Chee placed his age as early fifties. “So, the missing woman isn’t back yet?”
“No. I wish.”
Chee opened the door of the SUV, forcing Robinson to step back, and climbed out.
“She said she was taking the day off,” Robinson said. “She got in her car. That was it.”
“Did she tell anyone what her plans were?”
“Well, not exactly. She said she wanted photographs and some time to collect her thoughts.” He paused. “It can get crazy around here.”
“Tell me about her.”
Robinson repeated the description Chee knew: blond hair, blue eyes, slim, early thirties, wearing shorts and a white T-shirt. “She’s full of life. A great gal. A hard worker.”
“Was she alone when she left?”
“I guess so. Nobody else is missing.” Robinson shrugged. “And, before you ask, no drug or booze issues, no teed-off lovers, no arguments with coworkers I know of. We’ve been on a tight schedule, lots of pressure. I can see why she wanted time to herself, a break. But Melissa didn’t show up for the evening meeting. That’s totally not like her.”
“Is she an actress?”
“No, she keeps track of the money. That’s one of the hardest jobs around.”
Robinson looked past Chee, out toward the vast empty landscape. “Are you going to call in a crew with some of those search dogs?”
“First I’ll drive around, take a look for her myself. Try to remember if Melissa mentioned where she was going to take her pictures. Was there some landmark she wanted in a photograph?”