Just about the time Chee began to worry, Palmer returned to the stage. Behind him came the delegates. Palmer shook hands with each of them, one by one. He had arranged the representatives alphabetically by their own names, not by the entities they represented. They entered in that order and sat at the table behind tent signs identifying them with who they represented in smaller print below their names.
Interesting, Chee thought, and clever. Was it a subtle reminder that they could think for themselves beyond the groups they represented? He recognized some of them. He knew the three Navajos: the tribe’s director of development, the head of the historical preservation division, and an elder from the Bodaway Chapter House, the closest local Navajo government unit to where the development might be. He also had met one of the Hopi delegates, a distinguished leader from the Bear Clan. He recognized the developer’s representatives from the earlier encounter with the black limousine in the parking lot, but most faces were new to him. It looked like a fine array of bigwigs. A great place, he thought, for a group with violence in its toolbox to make a statement.
In the background, Chee heard the pulse of a siren. An ambulance, he knew. And from the growing intensity of the wail, it was coming his way.
7
Bernie had awakened before dawn. She went for a long run along the San Juan River, noticing the thin layer of ice along its banks where the shallow water lingered. The dead cottonwood leaves wore a coat of frost that added a gray sheen to their faded yellow. At sunrise, she said her prayers to welcome the day.
With beauty before me may I walk.
With beauty behind me may I walk.
With beauty below me may I walk.
With beauty above me may I walk.
With beauty all around me may I walk.
When she arrived at work Largo told her that Cordova wanted her to set up the appointment with the victim’s grandmother, planned to meet her at the substation, and hoped to leave for the woman’s house as soon as possible. She’d never known an elderly lady who slept in, so she called the number Largo supplied. Not only was it working, but a weathered voice answered. Bernie identified herself as a police officer and asked to speak to Mrs. Nez.
“Go ahead.” The old lady responded in Navajo.
“I have some news about your grandson and some questions to ask you, Grandmother. An officer from the FBI and I would like to come and talk to you this morning.”
The phone seemed to go dead; then the woman said, “Come now.” She gave Bernie directions to find her home.
Cordova updated Bernie on the investigation, noting that he hadn’t learned anything about the boys who had fled from the gym, that Byrum Lee, the medic, had a clean record, and that Mr. Franklin and the security guards in the Chieftain Pit had all been of great assistance. Initial research confirmed that a bomb—a homemade device, possily detonated with a cell phone or rigged to ignite with the start of the engine—had caused the blast. He wanted to drive, but Bernie persuaded him to ride in her unit, arguing that she knew the way and that the Navajo Police department’s SUV had the clearance needed for Mrs. Nez’s road.
“Just make sure we get there alive, Manuelito. I’ve heard about your driving.”
“What?”
“Never mind. A confidential informant. Let’s talk about the interview. Horseman’s last address was with this lady?”
Bernie said, “Yes. I’ll break the news to her in Navajo.”
“You didn’t tell her he was dead over the phone?”
“Of course not. After that, I’ll try to switch to English if she’s comfortable with it. If not, I’m the translator.”
“Right. Good.” They talked through a few more details and then he looked at his phone. “I’ve got a signal. I have to make some calls.”
She tuned out his conversation and considered the job ahead of them. She dreaded having to announce death. She’d done it before, mostly in the case of missing people whose bodies turned up long after they had wandered away, often victims of dementia or too much alcohol. Usually, the family was saddened, but not surprised.
Cordova put his phone down.
“I’ve got news. A player with Save Wild America, a guy who had been arrested for setting a bomb in California but released on parole, has been tracked to the protest at Tuba City. We’ll have him under surveillance there while we see if there’s a link to the Shiprock case.”
“Wow. That’s great.”
“I don’t know about great, but it’s something. Here’s something else I’ve been wanting to tell you. I’ve been reassigned. I’m going to Michigan.”
“Really?” She wasn’t too surprised. With a few exceptions, most of the FBI guys who came to work felonies on the Navajo reservation left for more prestigious assignments after a few years. “What will you be doing there?”
“Still Indian Country cases, but a whole different environment and more opportunity for advancement.”
Bernie had lots of questions. She waited to see if Cordova would save her the trouble of asking them.
He said, “You know, when I first got here, I thought I’d been sent to the third world. I couldn’t see much except the poverty, the misery. That’s one of the problems with this kind of work. We never get a call that says everything is great. Come on over because the people here love each other. But now, well, now I can find the beauty here, too.”
He moved his hand toward the windshield, waving at the clear turquoise sky and the tree-covered mountains on the horizon, motioning to include the expansive, arid landscape and a cluster of horses nosing for food. “I mean, not just the geography, but the people out here. It’s interesting. You Navajos, the people from VISTA, volunteers on a church program wanting to make things better. The optimists who work at the public health clinics or come out to teach.The grisly old desert-rat dropouts and the Navajo grandparents who barely speak English, bragging about grandkids who have gone to college. You know, Manuelito, I might miss this. I might even miss you, Chee, Largo, and the rest of the crew.”
“You think so? You’ll have to come back for vacation. Spend some time at Canyon de Chelly, take a jeep trip, hike down to White House Ruin and buy some necklaces from the kids there.” Bernie slowed the SUV. “See that windmill up to the left?”
“No. Wait. Yeah.”
“That’s where we turn for Mrs. Nez’s place. She told me it’s down in the wash from there, but she didn’t say how far.”
Cordova said, “I heard a rumor that in Michigan they have house numbers and street signs. That could take the adventure out of finding a witness.”
“You’ll be bored.”