“Not lately. It seems like the conflict has been going on forever.” It was, Chee noticed, one of the few questions Palmer had asked him in their many minutes together.
“It has been simmering a long, long time.” Palmer adjusted the heater vent. “Business interests, economic development on one side; Native groups, environmentalists on the other, but not necessarily in agreement about what they’d like to see done or left alone. Lots of people in between. Nobody would dare say they advocate desecrating a sacred place. But what’s sacred and what’s just nice to look at? What does ‘appropriate development’ mean, and is there any room for such a thing at the canyon? Should the Navajo Nation have the right to do what it wants with its land? It is a huge, divisive issue, a grand canyon of disagreements.”
They drove awhile without conversation, the hum of the tires on the asphalt puncturing the dark silence. Chee watched the markings on the highway sail by in the bright ribbon created by the headlights. He understood the road and drove at a speed that exceeded the numbers noted on the black-and-white signs.
Palmer said, “What happens next with the investigation into who destroyed my car?”
“Federal agencies handle the big crimes: murder, car bombs, kidnapping, bank robbery, stuff like that. They’ll work on it. Our tribal police jurisdiction is mostly Navajo-on-Navajo crime. Missing elders, traffic laws, meth labs in the outback, domestic violence.”
“That sounds major to me. Especially domestic violence. That shapes a kid’s life forever.”
Chee felt warm embarrassment rise to his face and appreciated the car’s darkness. “I didn’t mean it that way. No one likes to respond to those calls. Usually at least one of the people is drunk or high, maybe both. The children are crying, hiding, traumatized. It’s a dangerous situation for everyone, including the officer who gets the call.” He knew several officers who had been attacked and hurt on those assignments “Domestic violence, child abuse, is that the kind of law you do?”
“I used to when I started my practice. I worked pro bono child custody and restraining orders and some criminal defense. Environmental law and mediation hold my interest now.”
Chee dimmed his headlights for an approaching car, then flashed them back to high. “What do you think about the idea of a resort near the confluence of the two rivers?”
“It’s a complex subject. As the mediator, I have to keep my opinions to myself or, better yet, not have any.” Palmer looked out the side window, then turned back to face the empty highway unfolding in the unit’s headlights. “How much longer before we get to the hotel?”
“Another hour or so.”
Chee heard a shuffle and glanced over. Palmer had pulled something out of the leather bag at his feet. In the glow of the light from the big dial on Palmer’s watch, he could see that it was a bag of hard candy. The translucent ones that came in fruit flavors. Jolly Somethings. Palmer extended the bag toward him.
“No thanks. I’m not big on sweets.”
“I’m not either, but I’ve got some blood sugar issues. Diabetes.”
“That a nice briefcase, or whatever you call it.”
“I like it. My ex-wife gave it to me when I graduated from law school.”
Then Chee heard Palmer zipping his jacket and watched the passenger lean his head against the headrest. They drove past the intersection for Kayenta, historic hometown of the Wetherill family of traders and explorers, through the little settlement of Tsegi, and over the rest of the route in silence. If Palmer fell asleep, Chee didn’t hear him snoring.
They got to the Rest Well Diné Lodge in Tuba City about one a.m. Palmer stood at the entrance with a cigarette while Chee went in to start the registration process.
The round-faced girl at the hotel desk wore her smooth hair cut to fall at her jawline. She had the puffy eyes of the sleep-deprived. Chee told her his name and she checked the computer.
“Are you here for the Grand Canyon meeting, Sergeant?”
“That’s right.” He didn’t feel like making small talk. “You should also have a room for Aza Palmer starting tomorrow night.”
“I don’t see anything for Palmer. We’re nearly full—very unusual for this time of year. A lot of people are interested in what’s going to happen at the canyon.”
A chime sounded as Palmer came in. He walked up to Chee. The girl said, “I have two rooms for you for tonight and one for an additional four nights under your name, Sergeant.”
“I hope I won’t be here that long.”
Palmer said, “Could you put one of those rooms for tonight under a different name?”
The girl looked up at Chee from the screen. “I guess so, if it’s OK with the sergeant.”
“Book it under Zoom Harris.”
She went to the computer.
“Mr. Harris, you have a reservation starting tomorrow. Do you want me to add tonight to that bill?”
“Please.”
Chee looked at the man. “Zoom Harris?”
“It’s a long story.” Palmer smiled. “Sad, and not very interesting.”
Chee turned to the girl. “Are these adjoining rooms?”
“No, sorry. When the person called for the reservation, I told him those were all booked. These two are across the hall from each other. That’s the best we could do.” The girl took plastic cards from a desk drawer. “How many keys do you want?”
Before Palmer could interject Chee said, “Two for his room. One mine.”
The girl slipped the white key cards into small sleeves and wrote the room numbers on the outside of each one before she handed them out. She smiled at Chee. “Since you’re a cop, could I ask you a favor?”
“What can I help you with?”
“There’s a vehicle in the back lot with a dog that’s been barking all night. Some customers complained. I went out there and the dog is in an old camper van or bus, whatever they call it, parked along the fence. One of those funny old Volkswagens. I checked the books, and whoever owns it isn’t registered here. I’m not sure what to do next.”
Palmer said, “This must be the night for trouble in parking lots. At least the dog isn’t blowing up anything.”
Chee thought about suggesting that the complaining customers put pillows over their heads. The hotel could give them earplugs. Or she could call a tow company to remove the vehicle and its critter while he slept. He said, “I’ll check on it for you. Does the hotel take dogs?”
“Yes, and I’ve got one dog room open.”
He walked with Palmer to their rooms, down the long, carpeted corridor. The hotel was quiet, not even the blare of late-night television penetrating beyond the guest room doors. A few room service trays sat neglected in the hallway.
When they found the right rooms, Palmer ran his card through the reader and the green light blinked on. Chee stopped him as he reached for the door. “Let me.” He pushed, and the door opened into stuffy darkness. He felt along the smooth wall for the light switch and flicked it on. He checked the bedroom, bathroom, and closet, found nothing suspicious, and motioned Palmer in.