“I’m OK.”
“You are. Take a break anyway. Come outside with me. I’ll tell your rookie to come in, warm up, and do some of this.”
The stench of the burned car still hung in the night air. Cordova had cajoled or persuaded the San Juan deputies to guard the crime scene. The fire truck remained, the crew waiting to see if their services would be needed again. Behind the yellow-and-black Keep Out tape, the slick puddles of goo that had quelled the car fire glistened in the dim light. When she thought of hazardous duty as an officer, she’d pictured getting shot at, spit on by drunks, or chased by guard dogs. She hadn’t imagined working with flood victims when the hard male rain fell too fast for the parched ground to absorb. She had not anticipated that she’d be working long hours in a blizzard to help stranded families, hunting for suspects in a sandstorm, or walking for miles in the merciless sun searching for a lost child. Now, she could add to the list breathing toxic smoke and fumes that made her nauseated.
They talked as they walked toward her car. “Did you ever smoke, Manuelito?”
“No. After all the junk I’ve breathed in tonight, I’m glad I didn’t.”
“I used to. Actually made some interesting contacts that way. I quit when my wife and I started dating and she said kissing me was like licking an ashtray.” He laughed at the old joke. “So, tell me how come you’re here again?”
“Basketball.” No one who grew up within thirty miles of Shiprock, or any town on the reservation, would have asked the question.
“You have a nephew on the Shiprock team or something?”
“No. It was a special game, the veterans versus the young hotshots.”
He nodded once. “So, I guess that means there are more people here tonight than usual. I heard it was SRO.”
“SRO?”
“Standing room only.”
Bernie laughed. “The games always draw a big crowd. Basketball rules the rez. People line up early with folding chairs and coolers, waiting to get into the Pit. If you want a seat, especially at any of the big rivalries, you have to be here for sure when the doors open for the B-team at four.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding.”
The lot had partly emptied. Clusters of cars damaged by the explosion, and a few vehicles with flats from running over debris as they headed for the exit remained along with those cars and trucks that had picked tonight to die of natural causes. She saw the rookie looking at the damaged cars and officially introduced him to Cordova.
“The wrecker I called just pulled up.” Sam stood straighter and sucked in his gut as he talked. “Where would you like him first?” She noticed that the rookie didn’t direct the question to her, but tossed it to Cordova.
Cordova said, “I’ll brief him. Go back inside and talk to the potential witnesses. Take names of everyone and contact information. Make a note of anything that needs follow-up. The gal at the table by the door can help you.”
She expected the rookie to balk, but he smiled. “Yes, sir. Glad to. Whatever you want. This is the first time I’ve been involved with a federal agent.”
And then he was gone.
Cordova said, “I’m going to talk to Palmer once more, see if he’s remembered anything else. What do you know about him?”
“He’s a lawyer and lives in Arizona. He told me he’s had some threats and that no one has tried to kill him. Number twenty-three on his jersey. Good from the free throw line.”
“Why don’t people like him?”
“He didn’t say exactly, but he’s a lawyer.”
The crime scene van was there now, she noticed, complete with a big brown dog straining on its leash. Cordova said, “There’s plenty of help around. Go on home. You did a good job.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll need a statement from you. Make some notes and we can do that tomorrow.”
Because she had arrived late, the only empty parking spots had been at the very back of the lot. At the time, she’d pictured herself enjoying the stroll back to her ride after the hours in the hot, stuffy gym. Now, she was glad she’d parked where she had because her car hadn’t been damaged. The poor Toyota had been too close to a fire that summer, and getting hit by shrapnel wouldn’t have improved things.
A new car, or at least a different car with lower mileage and a working air conditioner, topped her wish list. But something always happened to divert whatever savings she managed to put away. When it came to a choice between replacing her car or helping relatives, there was no choice. And if she or Mama or Darleen needed a hand, her extended family came through for them. That was the Navajo Way.
Bernie drove to the station. It wasn’t until she finished her report on the incident that she realized she could barely keep her eyes open. She wanted a shower to wash the smoke out of her hair, warm steam to lift away the sight of the injured person’s burned flesh. And then a cup of tea for her scratchy throat and a good book to help her forget. Chee must be long done with his shift and probably asleep. But maybe he’d waited up for her. Maybe he’d even fixed her a bite to eat.
She arrived back at the trailer to find the lights on.
3
Jim Chee looked up from the movie he’d been watching on TV and smiled at her.
“Sounds like you had quite a night. Smells like it, too.”
Bernie put her backpack on the floor and stood next to the couch. She coughed. Chee muted the television.
“You OK?”
“Yeah, just tired and stinky.”
“I heard about the explosion on the scanner. Did you have back-up?”
“Eventually. The rookie got there first. Then the fire truck and ambulance, sheriff’s deputies, a state police car, and then Cordova. By the time he arrived, it was chaos.”
“Did the rookie do OK?”
“I guess. He found the one who was hurt. That guy . . .” She stopped, pushed away the memory.
Chee turned off the TV. “I heard the ambulance took somebody to the hospital, so I guess the victim was still alive at least. I’m glad he didn’t die out there. I’m relieved to see you, honey.”
And that, she knew, was why he was up, listening to the scanner with one ear while he watched TV, and not in bed as she’d expected. If the situation had been reversed, she would have done the same.
He went to the kitchen. She heard the water running.
“You want something? Tea? Hot chocolate?”
“Whatever you’re having.” She coughed again.
“Are you getting a cold?”
“I think it’s smoke from the explosion. I’m jumping in the shower.”
He handed her a garbage bag. “Put your clothes in here until we can wash them.”