“Dahetihhe.” Leaphorn turned toward Bernie when she said the word. “That’s what we call them in Navajo.”
After Bernie assured her that she was happy to keep Leaphorn company, Louisa drove off to get a haircut. In fact, Bernie welcomed the opportunity to have the Lieutenant all to herself.
Without Louisa there, Bernie could speak in Navajo, Diné Bizaad, and the Lieutenant seemed more attentive.
“You remember how you always helped Chee on his tough cases? Well, something happened at work that puzzles me. I am hoping you and I can come up with some new ideas. Or maybe you will just tell me I’m crazy to be obsessing about this.”
He tapped his index finger once against the top of the table next to his recliner.
“Does that mean yes, I am crazy?”
He tapped twice.
Bernie smiled. “Well, you might be wrong about that. Especially when you hear what happened.”
She told him about the traffic stop and the dirt. “The man offers me five hundred bucks and the rifle to give him a speeding ticket. Weird, huh?”
She looked toward Leaphorn. He was watching her.
“I arrested him because I knew he was guilty of something. But his car was clean: no drugs, no explosives, no hot credit cards. Not even any bootleg liquor. I don’t understand it.”
A cat—the cat she and Chee had fostered while Leaphorn was in the hospital—quietly jumped onto the Lieutenant’s lap. Bernie took a sip of tea, wishing she had more sugar for it. The cat had curled into a ball, and the Lieutenant was stroking it.
She told him about the soil testing she’d ordered and about finding Miller’s phone and her plan to follow up with the phone numbers. “Ever since I stopped that man, I’ve been wondering why he tried to bribe me if he had nothing to hide. I can’t get it off my mind. I know he got away with something. But what? Does this make sense to you?”
He tapped three times.
“Three? What is that? Maybe?”
He tapped once.
“I’ll have to tell Louisa that.”
He tapped once. How frustrating it must be for him to be unable to speak.
She watched one little bird drive another away from the feeder. “Maybe he planned to use that dirt for claim salting or something. Do you think that dirt is important? It’s tickling my brain, you know, like an itch that won’t go away.”
Leaphorn put his fingers together and made a circular sign with his right hand. She knew he wanted to write something. She pulled her notebook and a pen out of her pack. She found a blank page and handed him the pen. Slowly he printed, painstakingly forming each letter. He handed her the paper: one of several Navajo words that meant “Be careful.”
“Will you help me figure this out?”
This time the nod was strong, unmistakable.
When Louisa came back, she looked more relaxed. And she had an idea.
“I’m going to show Joe how to use my laptop computer. Since he can tap, I bet he could type.” She turned to him. “Do you like the idea?”
He nodded and tapped once.
“What about his old computer? He was used to that.”
Louisa laughed. “That dinosaur? It’s ready for a computer museum. No wonder he found computers frustrating.” Leaphorn’s old desktop machine had been hauled down to the office in Window Rock during the investigation into his shooting. Afterward the technician had returned it to Leaphorn’s office, but he didn’t get down on the floor to hook up all the wires again.
Louisa placed a plate of cookies on the table, crisp pink wafers with a sweet white filling of pure sugar, and went to get the laptop. Chee loved these cookies, and Louisa must have assumed Bernie did too. She ate one just to be polite. Leaphorn had eaten two and was munching on a third when Louisa came back with the computer.
“Could you set up Joe’s e-mail before you go?”
“Do you have an Internet connection?”
“Yes, I got it for my work, to stay in touch with the university. I’m glad we have it.”
Bernie quickly created the e-mail account, adding her e-mail, Chee’s, and Captain Largo’s in Leaphorn’s address book.
10
Chee called Turner’s cell phone before he left the station, and a man answered.
Yes, he was Turner. Yes, he’d worked on location scouting. Sure, they could meet, but not tonight. He’d see Chee at the movie site in the morning.
By the time Chee returned to Paul’s compound, his cousin had assembled an assortment of tools, including some actually designed for working on cars, and spread them out on a towel. A couple of friends had arrived, ostensibly to help. One of them had brought a welding torch. Someone had jacked up the People Mover on one side and spread out a blue tarp against the sand beneath the vehicle, covering the places where the oil had dripped out. The assembled group waited, drinking sodas from the can.
Chee changed clothes, then handed Paul his phone before maneuvering beneath the old vehicle.
“If Bernie calls, let me know, OK?”
“Sure. If it’s the bill collector, I’ll tell him to talk to Bernie instead.”
“Just say the check’s in the mail.”
“No worries, man. You want some music while you work?” Paul didn’t wait for a response. In a few seconds, Chee heard a Navajo rock band. Nice!
Removing the old part took longer than it should have. After half an hour of lying on his back beneath the vehicle, struggling with bolts that hadn’t been loosened since they’d been installed decades ago, he was glad when Paul squatted down to talk to him.
“You need a break, bro? Wanna soda?”
“I’m almost done.” Chee removed the final bolt, eased the oil pan onto the sand, and scooted out from under the vehicle. Paul’s buddies carried the pan to the welding area. Chee stood, stretched, rubbed sand on his hands to strip off the worst of the grime, and then walked to the ramada, where the man with the torch and solder went to work on the hole. Because of the desert’s dryness, the metal looked good otherwise. No rust.
Replacing the oil pan was harder, and Chee’s neck and shoulders ached when he finally finished.
“I appreciate it, man,” Paul said. “I could never have done what you did.” He patted his ample belly. “Even climbing down under there would have been tough for me.”
They added oil, and Paul started the engine, with Chee in the passenger seat. The friends left, and the two of them drove the half mile to the park road with no problems.
At the junction, Paul stopped. “How far is it from here to the place where you found the lost woman?”
Chee told him.
“Let’s go. I’d like to see that view she was so crazy about.”
Chee offered directions. They parked on the road, climbed the ridge—studiously avoiding the grave or any mention of it—and sat in the warm sand, watching as the moon began to rise over the monuments. The still air smelled of dust. They heard coyotes singing in the distance.