“Interesting.”
“People do strange things in hotel rooms, you know? Things they would never do at home. It looked bad, but it could have been some loony trying to give himself a body piercing. That would make me holler. I gave housekeeping the go-ahead to clean up. And then I got another call. The maid came across something else.”
Haskie walked to an old-fashioned filing cabinet, the kind Chee remembered Lieutenant Leaphorn using. Selecting a key from his key ring, he opened the top drawer. He thumbed through the folders, stopped, pulled out a Ziploc bag, and handed it to Chee. “She found this between the bed and the frame when she was changing the sheets.”
Inside the bag was a silver chain with a pendant and an index card. Chee recognized the necklace as a handmade Navajo piece, high-quality old silver with greenish-blue turquoise. Chee put the bag on the desk. “What’s the procedure when something valuable like this turns up?”
“The front office calls the guest. We say we found a piece of jewelry, a watch, a wallet, whatever. Have them ID it and then mail it off. That’s what we tried to do here, but the registration information turned out to be bogus or missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“We didn’t have a phone number. The letter we sent to the customers at the PO box they used for an address came back stamped ‘Unknown.’”
“When did this happen?”
“Early spring. I meant to talk to Bahe about it sooner, but when nothing came of it, I figured it was just people acting weird. Then I heard about what you found out there; I thought it wouldn’t hurt to mention it.”
Chee looked at the necklace again. “What’s on the card?”
“That’s the registration he filled out.”
“Could you give me a photo of this?”
“Give me a minute. Let’s do this right.” Haskie opened the bag and put the necklace on his desktop, adjusting it so the pendant, the clasp, and part of the chain were in the frame.
“Wait a second.” Chee reached into his pocket. “I think I’ve got a quarter or something we can use to show how big the stone is.” He pulled out the poker chip he’d found near the gravesite and put it by the pendant.
Haskie clicked off some shots. “I’ll send them to Bahe, too.”
Chee was impressed with how well the man had covered all the details. “So, why do you think this might be tied to the grave?”
“Whoever stayed at that room that night had something to hide. Otherwise, why not register with a real name? And there’s the blood.”
Haskie handed Chee a slip of paper. “Here’s the name of the maid, in case you want to talk to her. She’s off now, but will be back in the morning.”
“Thanks for the information.”
Haskie rose to see him out. “You know, I probably shouldn’t have wasted your time with this. I bet whatever happened here has nothing to do with what you found.”
That was likely to be true, Chee thought.
He went back to the station, typed up his report, and was ready to head back to the movie camp to interview Turner when his phone buzzed.
“Hey there.” Paul’s voice rang with exuberance. “Good news, bro. I booked more customers for the tour. You’re bringing me luck.”
The tour. He needed to get back to fix the People Mover. “That’s great. Is it still at sunset today?”
“No. Sunrise tomorrow. That’s better. Not so hot.”
“Are your clients more Norwegians?”
“No, these people sound like they’re from Texas. Do you think I could give them bologna sandwiches in the morning? They’re traditional, right? You and I grew up on them. Breakfast of champions.”
“Let me think on that.” Chee hung up and finished his notes, rehashing the session with Haskie. He considered the phony registration, the commotion, the bloody towels, and the unclaimed necklace. Suspicious? Yes. Criminal? No evidence of that. Would someone commit murder in a hotel room and then take the time to bury the body? Highly unlikely, especially considering that a backhoe was involved. And if this happened in the spring, say three months ago, would the backhoe tracks have survived?
He thought again about Melissa and the way they had discovered the grave. Tsinnie was right. It was too coincidental. Chee stood and stretched. He needed to get this silly thing settled and get back to Bernie. He had hardly spoken to her, between the spotty phone service in the valley and his focus on his work. Missing her, he called her cell phone. It rang until her message came on.
Finally he called the movie office, asked for Turner and learned that he was unavailable.
“Would you give me his cell number?”
The receptionist hesitated. “He usually doesn’t answer his cell. Mr. Turner is due here for a meeting in an hour. I’ll have him call you if I see him.”
Chee doubted that Turner took orders from his secretary.
9
Cordova opened the door for Bernie and sat behind Largo’s desk. Bernie settled into her usual spot, the folding chair.
Cordova smiled. “Nice to see you again, Officer. You’re looking well.”
“Thanks. I’m surprised that you’re here. I thought we’d be dealing with the DEA on this.”
“It was a multi-agency operation.” He didn’t elaborate, but Bernie knew the FBI had been working on human trafficking and credit card fraud. “I want to go over your traffic stop to make sure we don’t miss anything.”
“Great. It’s been on my mind ever since it happened.” Cordova had interviewed her before, and she remembered how thorough he was. “I assumed the whole encounter was on tape. The record light came on, but Largo told me the equipment wasn’t working.”
“Stuff happens. Maybe it was the universe’s way of putting me back in touch with a beautiful woman.” He took a slim recorder from his pocket and spoke into it, setting the place, date, and time and specifying that he was interviewing Officer Bernadette Manuelito of the Navajo Police. Then he placed the machine on the table between them.
He started by asking Bernie to recount what happened, noting that he would interrupt her for more details from time to time. He stopped her when she mentioned that Miller stepped out of the car to go with her to get the gun. “Tell me more about his demeanor.”
Bernie thought about it. “His coordination was good and his speech clear, no slurring. His eyes looked OK, not watery or bloodshot, and the pupils normal. Before he got out of the car, I noticed perspiration beading up on his forehead and that he was fidgeting. He grew more nervous later.”
Cordova got to the handgun. “Where was it in the glove box?”
“Right on top.”
“Did you see anything else suspicious in there?”
She thought about it. “No.”
“Elsewhere in the car?”
“I looked on the seat and the floor. Nothing unusual, nothing worth sweating over.”
“Did he say what he was doing out there?”
“He said he was driving from Albuquerque to Gallup, with a detour to see Ship Rock.”