Chee appreciated the hint. “I’m not kidding when I said something may have happened to him. He was coughing like crazy when I talked to him on the phone. He could barely speak.”
She pursed her candy-apple-red lips.
“A dry cough is one of the signs of heart failure. Delahart couldn’t even catch his breath.”
“I’ll call up there. What’s the room number?”
Chee gave it to her.
She put the phone on speaker. Chee counted ten rings before she disconnected.
“That’s a suite,” she said. “Expensive. You gave me another reason not to create an angry customer.”
“Or another reason to worry. What if he was your father up there, having a heart attack? Come on. I’m convinced this man is not safe, and you’re the person in charge of security. Rich guys, corporate types, have families who care about them, too.”
When she looked at him now, Chee sensed a change.
“You’re working with me to do your job, Ms. Erdman, acting on important information. You’re making sure nothing bad has happened up there.”
“OK.” She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and picked up a first aid kit, then led the way to a service elevator.
“Wouldn’t the stairs be quicker?”
“No. I can give us an express ride.”
She put a plastic key card in a slot and pushed a button. Chee heard the elevator groan and felt it begin to rise. He took a big breath, watched the numbers on the display change, told himself to relax.
“Last time Bahe talked me into this, he told me about how he’d saved a woman who’d tried to kill herself with pills at that new Navajo casino hotel near Flagstaff. Your heart attack story and mentioning my dad was better. Tell him that.”
Chee caught a glimpse of the green gum she was chewing. The air around her smelled like peppermint.
“Did Bahe say what happened to the woman?”
“He did chest compressions until the EMTs arrived. He saved her life.” She looked at Chee. “I grew up in Gallup. I have enough Diné friends so I know how hard it must have been for him to do that.”
The elevator door opened, and Erdman headed down the broad hallway with quick, sure steps. Chee hurried out behind her, noticing the security camera.
“What’s a suite like?” he asked. “More than one room?”
“A living room with a balcony and a separate bedroom. There’s a guest powder room in the front and a bigger bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub off the bedroom. They’re nice. Larger than my house.”
“Sounds bigger than mine, too.”
As they approached the suite, Chee noticed that now the door stood slightly ajar. He took a few quick steps and knocked on the doorframe.
“Navajo Police. Mr. Delahart, are you OK?”
When he received no response, he pushed the door open and announced himself again.
The first thing Chee noticed was a service cart carrying an ice bucket with an inverted wine bottle and dirty white plates stacked to one side. A split second later he felt hot air flowing toward him and realized that the sliding glass door was open to the balcony. Beyond the wrought-iron railing Merrick Butte stood against the brilliant summer sky.
“Mr. Delahart. It’s Sergeant Jim Chee. Everything all right here?” He took a step into the room and noticed a brown shoe protruding from behind the couch, and then the leg attached to it. A few more steps, and he saw the body, facedown and motionless on the beige carpet with a crimson stain on the back of his shirt.
This was the part of police work he dreaded most.
He heard Erdman gasp. She moved to the body, squatted down, and put her hand on the man’s thick neck. “No pulse. He’s not breathing, but his skin is warm.”
Chee heard a noise to the left and reached for his gun. A door began to move.
“Police!” He yelled the word. “Open the door slowly. Push your weapon out.”
The door moved a few inches.
“I don’t have a weapon.” The man’s voice sounded like it was coming from the floor. “For the love of God, why do you think I’m hiding in here? Some maniac—”
“Are you alone in there?”
“Yes.” And then a cough.
“Mr. Delahart, come out slowly. Put your hands out where we can see them.”
A bearded man staggered into the room. He was wearing shorts and a gray muscle shirt with King Kong on the front. He had blood on his hands. He stared at Chee and at the security guard. Then his gaze went to the floor behind them.
“Oh my God. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Did you shoot him?” Chee asked.
Delahart shook his head, and then sank down to the carpet. “I can’t believe this.”
Chee turned to Erdman. “Do you have your weapon?”
“Right here.”
“Take him out into the hallway.”
She nodded. “Come with me, sir.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Erdman reached for him, but Delahart squirmed away. “I gotta get, ah, my watch from the bedroom.”
She grabbed his right forearm, and Chee gripped from the other side. He felt Delahart tense.
“Hey, who do you think you are?”
“A Navajo policeman in charge of a murder scene talking to a bloody guy I found with a dead man.”
They steered Delahart out to the hall, where Chee released his grip. “Sit with your back against the wall.”
Erdman reached for her walkie-talkie. “I’m putting the place on lockdown.” Then she spoke into the radio.
Delahart stood next to the wall for a moment, and then attempted to lurch back toward the room. Erdman blocked him.
Chee frowned at the man. “Don’t mess with her. She knows exactly what to do in situations like this.”
He doubted that Erdman had ever been in a situation like this, but she squared her shoulders and spoke with a confidence he hadn’t heard before. “Sit. Your watch can wait. I’ll tell you what time it is—time to behave yourself.”
Weapon in hand, Chee pushed the bathroom door open with the toe of his boot. He saw blood on the sink and more blood on the bright white floor tiles. No gun in any obvious place.
He walked through the living room, past the body, into the bedroom. No weapons, no sign of a struggle, nothing unusual. The bed was made, and built into the floor—no way to hide beneath it. The door to a second, larger bathroom stood open. He saw a fancy watch with a gold band and, next to it, a vial of white powder on the vanity. He left them there.
He quickly rescanned the living room and then walked onto the balcony. The outdoor furniture, two chairs and a round table, seemed undisturbed. He looked down at the sandy red earth two stories beneath him and noticed depressions, what could have been footprints. It wouldn’t take a lot of athleticism for a person to jump from here, land unharmed, and run.
He called Bahe at the station and explained the situation.
“I’ll be right over,” Bahe said. “I’ll contact the feds.” Homicides on reservation land belonged to the FBI. “Get hotel security to keep people from going back there where the tracks are.”
“Sure thing. Erdman’s already put the place on lockdown.”
“You know something, Chee?”
“What?”