“You’re an idiot.”
A man in a green jacket stepped forward. “Come on, Bebe. Get out of the way before you get run over.” Instead of cooperating, Bebe swung the sign. She heard the thunk of impact as Green Jacket’s body hit the asphalt. By the time she reached him, the victim was upright and gripped Bebe by the forearm. Bebe struggled free and hoisted his sign again.
The driver stood stiffly, his hands clenched into fists. “Get him out of here before I punch him.”
Bernie felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as she stepped forward. “I’m a police officer. You all need to move back so these cars can pass.”
“You look like a nosy Indian to me.” Bebe attempted to give the car another dent, but he was too far away. The vehicles behind the limo continued honking.
Bernie put muscle in her voice. “Put the sign down. Step away from the car now, sir. Quit what you’re doing before you or someone else gets hurt.”
Bebe stopped bashing the hood, turned, and swung his sign at Bernie. She took a step back in surprise, avoiding the blow. Green Jacket grabbed Bebe’s wrist. The sign dropped as he twisted Bebe’s arm behind his back and pushed him out of the line of traffic. Bernie expected Bebe to continue to resist, but Green Jacket seemed to have subdued him.
Officer Silversmith, slightly out of breath, ran up next to her. “Want me to arrest that guy for assault on an officer?”
“No. You’ve got enough to deal with and his buddies have him under control. But keep an eye on that man.”
Silversmith spoke to the driver. “Move your car so the folks behind you can get out of the parking lot, and I’ll take your statement and photos of the damage.”
The driver turned away. “Forget it. I’ll deal with this later. Mr. Gardner is already running late for his meeting in Page.”
Some of the protesters had their cell phones out. Bernie hadn’t noticed anyone filming the attack on the car, but probably someone had. Silversmith turned to her. “You sure know how to have fun on your day off. Thanks for your help.”
The protesters who had been distracted by the car beating came to life as Chee and Aza Palmer left the building. Chee looked grim as he and Palmer walked toward his unit. About the same time she noticed them, Bebe did, too.
“Aza Palmer, this power outage is a hoax to cut off public input. You should be ashamed. Shame. Shame. You’re in the back pocket of Canyonmark. Shame. Shame.” He kept it up, and the chant of “Shame, shame” spread through the protesters. In addition to Save Wild America, Bernie saw signs that said “Swim Free,” “Let the Colorado Flow,” “Save the Canyon,” and “No to Canyonmark” flashing in a flurry of organized energy. Someone shouted, “There’s a Canyonmark flunky,” and the group turned its attention to the approaching vehicle, and the line of traffic slowed to a crawl.
Rightman moved in front of Bernie to focus on the messages. The TV attention energized the crowd, and they followed Rightman to a car with a delegate. Bernie walked over to Chee’s unit, and he lowered his window.
“Hey there,” he said. “I saw you in the meeting room. Glad you made it to Tuba. Sorry I didn’t have a chance to talk.”
“You were busy. Can I help?”
Before he could answer Palmer said, “I need to get back to the motel to see what I can find out about the power outage and arranging an alternative site before all the businesses close down today. I can’t think sitting here.” His voice was icy, formal. “With me gone, the situation might calm down.”
“OK I’ll turn on the lights and siren and we’ll cruise on outta here.” She heard something she rarely noticed in Chee’s voice: irritation.
Bernie said, “My car is on the other side of the building. What if I give Palmer a ride to the motel and keep an eye on him for you. We can cut through the building.”
“Watching him is my job.”
“Consider me your deputy for the moment. It will make everyone’s life easier.”
Palmer said, “This is ridiculous. Just let me walk back to the hotel.”
“Quiet.” Chee kept his attention on Bernie. “If you’d give him a ride, that would be great.”
“On one condition.” She leaned in toward the unit’s open window. “I need a key to our room.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Chee reached in his jacket pocket and handed her the little envelope with the key and the room number.
Bernie gave Palmer a steel-eyed look. “Come with me. I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”
Palmer climbed out of the police car, and he and Bernie made their way quickly through the darkened hallways of the Justice Center building and out a side door.
She moved her water bottle from the Tercel’s seat, and he climbed in.
She noticed that his knees were at his chin. “You can scoot the seat back with a bar underneath so you’ll have more room. My mother usually sits there, and she’s almost as short as I am.” As she drove toward the exit, she saw Rightman unlocking the white van with “KOAX” painted on the sides. He aimed the camera at them as she sped past.
Bernie pulled onto the street and stopped at the stop sign. She noticed a blue sedan behind her.
“How was the meeting?”
“So far, so good, except for this power failure. Not nearly as hair-raising as what happened at the basketball game. Why are you here?”
“I’m squeezing in a little time with my husband and I have some questions about what happened at Shiprock. I think you know more about the situation than you told Cordova.”
She waited for him to respond, but he stayed quiet while she drove to the motel. She pulled into a parking spot in front of the building and turned off the engine. The blue car that had been following them drove past the motel. Maybe it was nothing. The explosion at Shiprock had set her nerves on edge. Palmer took off his seat belt. “The FBI guy asked me a million questions, and I’m sure he told you what I said. I haven’t had any great insights since then. Why does it matter to you anyway?”
“They identified the person who died in the explosion, a man from Shiprock with no links to domestic terrorism or, as far as I can tell, to the mediation. I had to give his grandmother the news. She said the young man never mentioned you, but I think she was lying about that.”
“No one told me the body had been identified. Who was it? Maybe someone I dealt with as a lawyer.”
She hated to say the name of the dead, but she had to. “Richard Horseman.”
Palmer slumped back in the seat as if someone had punched him in the gut. “Ricky? Oh no. No. Are you sure?” He pursed his lips and blew out a long exhalation. “Dead? I loved him like a son. We hadn’t seen each other since I got divorced and started working too hard. But I never forgot him. I should have—”
He buried his face in his hands. The chill of grief hung in the air.
Bernie waited.