“Please sit back in the car for a moment.”
She could see well enough in the headlights to tell that Miller’s name was on the documents, and his insurance was valid. She went to her unit and called in the updated information. Because of the drug bust party, the system was operating at maximum efficiency. She waited only briefly to discover Miller had no outstanding warrants. The Chevy was registered to him, too. Good, she thought. Just a guy speeding on a usually empty road on a night when a cop happened to spot him.
But his silence and his nervousness bothered her.
Bernie walked back to the sedan. If things went as she expected, she would return the gun with a stern warning about speeding. Or, maybe, a speeding ticket. Depended on his attitude.
She handed him the car papers and his license.
“What business are you in, Mr. Miller?”
“Construction.” He was chewing his lower lip, and perspiration glistened on his pale skin. The night was warm, but not hot. Unless he had a medical problem, something other than the ambient temperature was making him sweat.
“What do you build?”
“Oh, whatever.”
“You have a job out here?” Bernie wanted to hear him talk a bit more, make sure he wasn’t impaired.
“Yeah.” The fingers of his right hand tapped on the steering wheel.
When he didn’t elaborate, she tried something different. “Where is it that you live?”
“Oh, outside of Flagstaff.”
“Flag, huh? Do you like it?” Flagstaff was high, almost seven thousand feet, a railroad town on the edge of the Colorado Plateau, cold in the winter. The best thing about the town was its views of the San Francisco Peaks, Dook’o’oslííd, home of some of the Holy People: Talking God, White Corn Boy, and Yellow Corn Girl. The Hopi held the peaks sacred too, as the dwelling place of their kachinas from July until the winter solstice.
“It’s quiet, you know? They have NAU there—that’s Northern Arizona University—lots of bike trails, and Lowell Observatory. The Grand Canyon is practically next door. Some nice bars. A good brew pub. My dog and I walk about anywhere without getting hassled.”
He kept talking now, telling her about his dog, referring to it with the fondness of someone discussing his child. He spoke too fast, even for a white man. Was his nervousness a normal reaction to being stopped at night? Or was he high on something?
When he finally fell silent, she asked, “Why are you in such a hurry tonight?”
“Ah, no reason in particular, I guess. No, ma’am. I wasn’t paying attention. You know how that is? You look down at the speedometer, and you surprise yourself.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Oh, to Gallup to spend the night. Then home tomorrow.”
Gallup was at the south end of 491 in New Mexico. Shiprock anchored it on the north. “You have friends out that way?”
“Um, no. I like the Comfort Suites, you know, on the east side of town. They take dogs when my pooch is with me.” He started tapping the steering wheel again.
“And where did you come from this morning?”
“I had a, um, a meeting in Albuquerque.”
“Since you’re in a hurry, why are you here on 491 instead of the Interstate?” Avoiding the state police, FBI, and a drug arrest was the obvious reason, even though he wasn’t the stereotype to be arrested for drugs. He didn’t have enough bling. Not enough bluster in his attitude.
She waited. Miller didn’t let the silence hang for long.
“Oh, I love the desert. It’s not against the law to drive around at night. It was a free country, last I heard.” He wiped the sweat off his face with his palm, took off his cap, ran his fingers through his hair. Put it on again.
“You seem nervous.” She kept her voice neutral. “Why is that? Drugs, sir? Maybe a prescription you’re taking or something?”
Miller removed his glasses, looked at them, rubbed the bridge of his nose. Pursed his lips and exhaled. “Too much coffee, maybe. Maybe that and I’m just, well, excited about being out here, I guess. And getting stopped by the police? That’s enough to make anyone sweat a little.”
“Mr. Miller, do you have something in this car that you shouldn’t have? Something like amphetamines, cocaine. Counterfeit money. Fake IDs, stolen credit cards, illegal weapons, explosives. Liquor? You know that’s illegal on the Navajo Nation.” She smiled at him. “If you do, you should tell me about it now, before I find something that will get you in a huge amount of trouble.”
He was thinking about it, she could tell.
“I mentioned the gun.” Miller’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Right, you did. That was smart.”
“I didn’t realize it was illegal out here.” He took his hands off the steering wheel and wiped them on his shorts, then put them back.
“Yes, that’s what you said. I am asking you if you have anything else in the car that is making you nervous. Something you want to tell me about now before I find it.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Don’t you need a search warrant to look in the car?”
“I’m only asking, sir. Based on your behavior, I have reasonable cause to search the car for contraband. I can get a warrant. If I do that, we will have to wait here for the judge to be woken up and to fax it to my office in Shiprock, and then they will radio me. That process takes time, and you said you were in a hurry. If you don’t have any contraband, it would be easier on both of us if you opened the trunk for me to take a look. Does it have a release down there under the dashboard?”
“Can’t we work this out between the two of us? You seem to be a reasonable gal—uh, person. Like you said, arresting me would be a big hassle for both of us.”
She hadn’t said that, but she let his comment linger on the summer air. The increasing light from the rising moon made it easier to observe him. His left eye was twitching.
“OK,” he said. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you let me drive out of here. Give me a speeding ticket if you need to. You’ll never see me again, and this can stay between us.”
“A hundred?” Now she had him for speeding, and for attempting to bribe a police officer.
“Five, five hundred. That’s all I have on me. I don’t want any more trouble.”