“I’ll try it anyway.” She dialed with the phone on speaker.
Bernie heard the phone ringing four times, then the message: “You’ve reached the service department at Premiere BMW. Mr. Austin and his staff can’t take your call, but we love your business. Please leave a message and . . .” She hit the end call button.
Bernie found three more recent calls, last names only. She called all three. Two were answered by men who didn’t know Palmer or Katie. The third was a generic electronic voice. Since women sometimes use that feature for security, Bernie left a message with her cell number.
“That didn’t work very well.”
He squeezed her hand. “If Palmer is with Katie, he’s probably safe. If the man we heard on the phone picked him up and took him out somewhere to blow him up, he’s in serious trouble. If he’d only . . .”
Bernie said, “If he had his phone, we could just call him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left it behind on purpose. Do you think you should tell Largo or Captain Ward or the feds about this?”
Chee shook his head. “Let’s keep looking.”
They drove for a while with no luck, and then Chee stopped in front of the Hotel Hopi. “I remembered that I need to drop off something.”
“What?”
“It’s an envelope for one of the delegates.”
“I’ll go in with you,” she said. “Maybe I’ll get an idea while I’m waiting.”
Bernie settled into a chair in the lobby.
Chee noticed that the man he’d spoken to earlier was still behind the desk. The clerk glared at him but dialed a number. The phone rang three times and then a voice said, “Blankenship.”
“It’s Sergeant Chee. I’ve got something for you.”
“What is it?”
“An envelope that a person who came to today’s meeting wanted me to give to you.”
The voice on the phone said, “I can’t come to the lobby now. Can you leave it at the desk?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
Chee turned his back to evade the desk clerk’s obvious eavesdropping and lowered his voice. “I’ll walk it over to you. No problem.”
“Who’s it from?”
Chee took a breath to reduce his growing impatience. “An elderly Navajo woman named Mrs. Nez. She said her grandson left it for you. She drove three hours to get to Tuba City.”
“I don’t know any old Indian ladies with grandsons. Bring it to the session tomorrow, and I’ll pick it up. Have a good evening.”
“That was too quick,” Bernie said. She saw the frustration on his face.
“The guy was there, but he asked me to bring the envelope to the session tomorrow.”
“How did you get involved as an errand boy for this grandmother? I know, you just can’t say no to an old lady.”
Chee smiled. “Actually, it’s your fault. This lady had one of your cards. She gave it to Dashee, and he forwarded the job to me.”
“That’s interesting. What’s her name?”
“Mrs. Nez.”
Navajoland had hundreds of women named Nez. “What did she look like?”
Chee described her.
“She’s the grandmother of the man who was killed. That’s why she had my card. I went with Cordova to give her the news.”
He pulled the envelope from his pocket and opened it. Without removing them, he showed Bernie three one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Holy smokes. That’s a lot of money.”
“Mrs. Nez said the envelope was from her grandson. When I asked why he didn’t deliver it himself, she wouldn’t answer.”
Bernie looked at the name on the outside. “Because the grandson is dead. Mrs. Nez never mentioned the money. Where did he get this, and why did he want Blankenship to have it?”
“Call Cordova and tell him about this.”
She dialed his number and left a message.
Then they sat, staring at the fire, deep in thought.
“I don’t understand why a poor Navajo man would give three hundred dollars to a guy like Blankenship. What do you think?”
Bernie pushed her hair behind her ears. “Cordova asked Mrs. Nez if her grandson had ever been to the Grand Canyon, ever talked about it, and she said no. And today’s situation, the way Palmer gave us the slip, doesn’t feel right either. Why would Palmer mention a message that obviously upset him, but lie about knowing who it was from?”
Chee moved a little closer to her. “My best guess is that the call was something personal, something embarrassing. My job is to protect him as mediator, but he obviously doesn’t believe that carries over to his private life.”
“Maybe he didn’t recognize the man at first, a voice from the past or something. And then, after the second call, he clicked on who it was.”
“And he called whoever it was on the room phone and arranged for the pickup?” Chee glanced up at the muted TV behind Bernie, noticing two newscasters behind a big desk and then a commerical.
“I heard that voice when I worked the bomb scene, but I talked to so many people that night, I can’t place it. Palmer grew up in Shiprock.” She shrugged her shoulder. “I don’t think the threats on Palmer are connected to the mediation at all. I think it’s personal. Somebody from his past.”
Chee caught the end of a pain-reliever ad and then the resumption of the evening news. “Hey, look what’s on TV.”
She glanced up.
“That’s footage from when the meeting let out.” Chee leaned closer. “There’s Dashee.”
“Look, there you are.”
Chee winced. “I look like a skinny teenager.”
“I’d call it lean and handsome.”
“There’s the guy with the sign bashing the black car.”
Bernie leaned forward. “One incident of violence and that’s what gets on TV.”
They watched a few more moments. A man came up and stood next to the big couch, watching, too.
“Just like TV to miss the whole point,” he said. “Did they explain what the meeting was about?”
“I don’t know,” Chee said. “The sound is off.”
“They probably didn’t,” the man said. “Everyone oversimplifies issues like this. That’s why the mediation was a good idea. Too bad the guy in charge is in the back pocket of the developer.”
Chee said, “Are you sure about that?”
The man tugged at his ear. “I don’t trust him.” The report on TV switched to something happening in Phoenix. The man walked toward the elevators.
Bernie said, “So what now?”
“I need to find Palmer. Let’s do some more driving.”
“If we don’t spot him, let’s go back to the hotel and see if he’s returned. If not, we can look in his black bag and in the room for something that might help locate him.”
Chee reached in his pocket for the car keys.
17
Aza Palmer looked at the wrinkled face framed by the long gray braids. He’d made a mistake climbing into the old pickup with the dent by the passenger door. He should have told Mr. Duke no. Pressed him to come inside the hotel to talk. But he knew how hardheaded the guy was. Better to just get it done with.