He could tell by the silence that the question caught her off guard.
“I’m not sure,” she said finally. “I figure the bomber targeted Palmer, but the feds won’t say for sure yet that it even was a bomb. Maybe the bomber wanted to damage the school or make a statement against basketball and picked the BMW because of where it was parked.”
Chee laughed. “Clever, Manuelito. Evading the question by challenging my assumption. I guess that means you forgot to ask her. Did she have murderous tendencies in high school?”
“I don’t think so. But she and Palmer fought a lot, breaking up, getting back together.”
“Sounds like high school. Speaking of Palmer, I need to return to my babysitting job. Catch you later.”
In the minutes he’d been looking for water, people who had arrived too late to get a seat had gathered in the hall outside the meeting room. Officer Rivera stood straight, shoulders back and legs apart, talking and stressing his points with his hands, unsmiling. Chee knew the pose, designed to forestall arguments. Closer, he caught the last of what Rivera was saying: “. . . can’t sit on the floor or the steps. All the seats are filled, and the fire marshal set the limit for occupancy. When and if someone leaves, someone can come in.”
The man in a red T-shirt with a Save Wild America logo scowled. “That’s not fair. This is supposed to be the session for public comment. You guys should have found a bigger room, but hey, these sessions are always rigged anyway.”
The officer said nothing.
Red Shirt said, “We’ll stay here in the hall until that guy Palmer agrees to let us talk.”
The officer said, “You can stay as long as the noise out here doesn’t disrupt the meeting and as long as your people don’t block the flow of the traffic.”
Red Shirt turned to Chee. “I saw you talkin’ to him. Tell him he needs to come out here and listen to what the real people have to say about the development.”
As he entered the room this time, Chee noticed a second person onstage. He stood facing Palmer, who sat at the long table for the delegates. He was of average height, made taller by his hiking boots. Chee couldn’t see his face, but noticed that he wore a vest over his fleece jacket and a cap. He moved closer to Palmer, pointing at him with an extended index finger, a rude gesture in the Navajo world. Chee noticed the startled expression on Palmer’s face and sensed the man’s anger even before he caught the end of what he was shouting: “. . . good-for-nothing jerks.” Then he saw the man reach toward his vest pocket.
Chee leapt over the top steps onto the stage. “Police. Put your hands where I can see them. Step away from Mr. Palmer.” The man glared at him, then stepped to the side with a string of obscenities.
Palmer rose and took a step toward the man in the cap. “It’s OK. Easy on him. Easy there.”
Chee wasn’t sure if Palmer meant the “easy” for him or Cap Man.
Cap Man spit out the words, “It’s a sad state of events when a person can’t express an opinion without police harassment.”
Palmer turned to Chee. “I know Mr. Blankenship. He’s one of the delegates. I met him on an earlier mediation for another resort. You can back off, Sergeant. It was just a discussion.”
Knowing someone didn’t guarantee the person wouldn’t harm you. In fact, Chee had seen the opposite too often “I was watching you. I could tell he was angry and I saw him reach for something.” Then he gave Blankenship his best “don’t mess with me” look.
The man scowled back. “I was going to show him something from my billfold. You got a problem with that?”
Blankenship extracted a smooth brown leather wallet, opened it, and pulled out a small photo. “I wanted him to look at this.”
Chee glimpsed at a photo of a group of people standing outside along a river. Blankenship held it close to Palmer’s face. “That’s what I’ve been talking about. You’ve got the power, man. Make a difference. Let the river live.”
Blankenship massaged his arm where Chee had gripped it. “What you just did, jumping to an assumption there, is why law enforcement has a black eye these days.”
Palmer said, “Let it go. The officer was just doing his job.”
“His job isn’t to terrorize people, last I heard.”
Chee said, “Go outside, sir. Calm down. Get that temper under control.”
“You’re the one who lost it. You’re just another empty-headed cop.” Blankenship stomped down the steps and out the back door.
Palmer sat down again. “Thanks for the water. I’m going to get things started here in a few minutes. It would be best if you left the stage.”
“Why?”
“I plan to open with a little talk about trust and the value of cooperation. Having a cop standing behind me contradicts that. It says either that I am afraid of something or that you guys, the police, are worried about me. Either way, it’s the wrong message.”
Chee said, “After what happened last night, Largo and the chief are worried that someone will try to hurt you and disrupt the meeting.”
“What did happen last night?” Palmer raised his shoulders toward his ears, lowered them. Exhaled. “Something exploded and destroyed a car that happened to be mine. That might have nothing to do with the reason I’m here today.”
Chee shook his head. “Until the captain tells me otherwise, I’ve got a job to do. I’ll stand over there against the wall at the edge of the stage where I can watch you and the audience.”
Palmer sighed. “We’ll try it for today.” The mediator walked to the podium, set down some papers, sipped the water, and adjusted the microphone. The noise in the room quieted with anticipation.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I know we’re running late and I will get started in a few minutes. The delegates are assembling in the next room. Thank you for your patience.” Then Palmer left the stage and Chee heard the sound of a door opening and the thud of it closing again. He knew Silversmith and Redbone were back there, keeping an eye on things, but Palmer’s absence made him nervous.
Chee stood against the wall, keeping track of how long the man was gone and studying the audience for signs of trouble.
The people seated in the room seemed mellow. Good. He allowed himself to unwind a fraction of a turn and the fatigue in his muscles and behind his eyes reminded him that he’d had a long day yesterday followed by an early morning.