“Well, we talked yesterday.” Bernie’s brain raced. She seldom worried about what might happen to her, but the knowledge of what could happen to Chee followed her whenever he left on assignment. If something were wrong, Largo would have told her upfront, not wasted time with talk about meetings. But she had to ask. “Is he OK?”
“He’s fine, but if I know Chee, he’s probably grumbling. There’s a new development in that grave he stumbled on. Bahe wanted him to stay out there until he’s settled it and given out a citation.” Largo chuckled. “Knowing Chee, that could be a while.”
Bernie wondered why she had to hear this from her boss instead of her husband.
“Guess that’s it.” Largo said. “Say hey to the Lieutenant for me when you go out there again. If it seems right, invite him to join us next Monday.”
“I will.”
“Oh, one more thing. Your pal Miller came by and picked up his phone.”
“How did he know we had it?”
“He told Sandra he remembered where he was when he saw it last.”
After Largo signed off, Bernie sat in her unit, thinking about Chee, relieved that he was OK, sad that he wasn’t coming home, annoyed that Largo had been his messenger. Why hadn’t Chee given her the bad news himself? Too busy? Bad phone service? Logical answers, but they didn’t ease her disappointment.
She called him, first his cell, where she left a message, and then at the Monument Valley substation. To her surprise, he answered.
“Hi there beautiful. Nice to finally hear your voice.”
“Yours, too. Largo told me there’s a new development in the case and that you have to stay out there longer. What’s happened?”
“I was going to call you when I got done here, but you beat me to it. I found a body.”
“Are you talking about the grave you stumbled on?”
“No, this is different.” And he told her what had happened, starting at the beginning.
12
Chee walked to the Inn looking forward to the conversation with Delahart, even though, based on first impressions, he expected the man to be a jerk. He anticipated a confrontation, lies, and denial in spite of the evidence. He’d ask the required questions, get the expected non-answers. Chee could explain the statutes the grave violated and the penalties the Navajo Nation would impose, and suggest, as Bahe had instructed, that if Delahart would make the grave disappear quickly, at least some of the legal complications might disappear, too.
So soon, maybe even by the end of the day tomorrow, the fake grave could be gone. Another page in the saga of bizarre and questionable adventures in the amazing real-life world of law enforcement.
He walked into the lobby, a simple, high-ceilinged room made elegant by the stunning views of the monuments and the way the design incorporated nature’s panorama as part of the decor. He’d seen the buttes and mesas every day that week, but this angle gave him further appreciation for their massive beauty.
Then a mountain of suitcases and backpacks caught his attention. Was all this luggage on its way to the guest rooms, or on its way out with departing travelers? The group had recently arrived, he decided. A noisy flock of predominately gray-haired women accompanied by a few senior men loitered around the suitcases. Most of the elderlies had name tags on cords around their necks and wore shorts or khaki pants and hats.
He paused for a moment, observing the confusion at the front desk. The registration clerk stood alone behind the counter, dealing with a man in a plaid shirt and a straw hat. From their posture, Chee decided neither person was enjoying the encounter.
A broad, carpeted staircase with a wooden railing circled up from the lobby through the atrium to the upper-story guest rooms. Good, he thought, he could avoid the elevator. When he and Bernie were in Hawaii on their honeymoon, she’d teased him about climbing the stairs at that fancy hotel on the beach—twenty-seven flights—so they could see the view from the top floor. The only elevator he knew of in Shiprock was at the hospital, and the only way he would ride in that tight little box would be as a patient on a gurney. He’d take the stairs any day.
At the top, he continued down the carpeted hallway, looking for the room number Delahart had given him. He rapped on the door, announced himself, and waited. Thinking he heard something on the other side of the door, he knocked again and called, “Mr. Delahart, it’s Officer Chee. Here for our appointment.” There was no reply.
Chee went back to the lobby, found a house phone, and called the room number. No response. A silver-haired woman with big red earrings approached him. “Excuse me, sir. Are you a real policeman?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m with Navajo Nation law enforcement.”
“Oh. I heard they were making a thriller out here. I thought maybe you were an actor, you know, somebody famous.”
“No, ma’am.”
“You look handsome enough to be in the movies. Could I get a picture of us together?”
“OK, I guess.” Handsome enough to be in a movie about zombies. He’d have to tell Bernie about this.
“Millie,” she called across the room to a lady in loose jeans and a white blouse. “Come take a picture of me with a Navajo policeman.”
Millie’s camera was buried at the bottom of a purse that could have held Chee’s entire wardrobe. After she extracted it, she took a few minutes to get it turned on, and a few more to take some shots with the flash and some without.
When that was done, Chee made his way to the hotel security office.
From their phone conversation, he’d expected security director Brenda Erdman to be older. She was in her late thirties, professional-looking in a red shirt with the hotel logo and “Security” embroidered beneath it. She sat behind a desk and motioned Chee to a single straight-backed chair in her office, but he stood, hoping to keep his visit short. He noticed her America’s Favorite Desserts desk calendar as he explained the Delahart situation.
“I need you to let me into his room.” Chee gave her the number. “We had an appointment. I talked to him half an hour ago, and he confirmed it.”
“Where’s Bahe? He usually handles calls at the hotel.” She looked at Chee. “You need to give me a good reason to open a locked door for you.”
“How about a safety check? The guy up there was expecting me but didn’t answer the door. Something might have happened to him.”
“Maybe he decided he didn’t want to talk to the police. Is he a parole violator or something? Do you have an arrest warrant?”
“No.”
“People have a right to privacy.”
Chee thought about it. “I’m investigating a possible crime, and this guy is important to the case. I’m here on Bahe’s orders.”
“No. I can’t do it. It’s against hotel policy. Our guests have a right to let the phone ring and ignore a knock on the door. What if he’s, uh, romantically involved, or dying his hair in the bathroom, or sleeping with earplugs? He will raise holy hell, and I’ll be looking for a new job. I’m sure you know this without me explaining it. It has to be a matter of life and death.”