Song of the Lion

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Song of the Lion Page 6

by Anne Hillerman


  “I’d like to talk to her before that. Can you give me directions to her house?”

  “They live out there, you know, just past the place where that house burned down.” He elaborated. “She works, so go by later.”

  Back at her desk, Bernie looked at her interview list. She began with people she knew, or at least had met before the trouble last night. The first two calls went to voice mail, but on the third a woman answered. Bernie heard a dog or maybe a baby crying in the background.

  They’d met last year when the woman, Julie Pahe, reported that her truck had been stolen. Bernie reintroduced herself and asked Pahe if she’d remembered anything unusual at the game since they’d spoken last night.

  “Well, my big boy plays on the JV, so we have to be there early. Usually I drop him off by the door, because I have to work, but last night I planned on staying because of the homecoming game. That’s how I found a parking place close to the entrance. I decided to call my sister before I went in because, you know, she’s having a baby any day now. Did I already say that?”

  “Go ahead and tell me what you saw.” Bernie feared the story would segue into her sister’s pregnancy or the births of other children, but Julie stayed on target.

  “I noticed a man standing outside the gym. Not smoking a cigarette or talking on the phone or anything. I wondered why he didn’t go inside. Maybe he was waiting for a friend, but it was cold out there. Maybe he wasn’t doing anything, but when my sister and I finished and I got out of the car, he had disappeared.”

  “That’s interesting. What did he look like?”

  “Oh, typical, I guess. Pants, a jacket. On the short side. Not too fat.” Julie stopped. “I guess I didn’t get a good look.”

  Bernie remembered the jacket on the man who died. His supine body had seemed reasonably tall, but then most people seemed tall from her perspective. “Could you tell what color the jacket was?”

  “It was getting dark,” Julie said. “But I think it was blue. It had a hood and he pulled that over his head.”

  Blue. Not the brown she’d seen on the dead man.

  Julie took a deep breath. “Is the gym still closed?”

  “As far as I know. Until the experts finish investigating the explosion.”

  “I hope they figure out what happened. My boy is afraid they will have to cancel practice.”

  “How did the JV team do last night?”

  “They played together really well.”

  Bernie knew that meant they’d lost. “Thanks for your help.”

  “I hope the police have more luck finding who did it than you all did finding my truck.”

  “Yes. Me, too.” The truck had never been recovered.

  Bernie spent the rest of the workday following up on her list of potential witnesses, learning nothing much, feeling useless and discouraged.

  She thought of Bruce Chino’s sister, Gloria, and decided to stop by her house before she headed home. Then, rather than eat by herself, she could head off to Mama’s for dinner and a visit.

  She called Mama’s house and her sister answered.

  “Hey there.” Darleen sounded preoccupied.

  “Hi. I’m thinking of stopping by for dinner.”

  “Sure. I’ve been too busy to think about food. Could you bring a pizza?”

  “I guess. You guys need anything else?”

  “Beer. No, just kidding. Three months and fourteen days without a drink.”

  “That’s great. How’s Mama?”

  “She’s OK. She was tired last night after teaching Mrs. Bigman. What’s happening with the mad Shiprock bomber?”

  “Have you been watching TV?”

  “I read about it on Facebook first, and then Mama and I saw the damage on the news this morning.” Darleen didn’t wait for an answer. “That FBI guy on TV was kinda cute, but he didn’t have much to say.”

  “What kind of pizza do you want?”

  “Mushroom. Extra cheese.”

  Bernie walked past Sandra’s desk on her way out.

  “Are you calling it a day?” Sandra asked.

  “One more interview. Maybe it will lead somewhere.”

  “You look kinda down, sad or something.”

  “I’m frustrated. After all those calls, only one lead and it’s marginal.”

  “There’s something else, too, right?”

  Bernie bristled at Sandra’s probing but had learned to tell her friend the truth and get it over with.

  “I don’t like Chee being gone, and I keep thinking about that explosion and the dead one.”

  “And the rookie?” Sandra didn’t wait for an answer. “You still have that little rock?”

  Bernie took it out of her pocket. Sandra looked at it. “See, from this angle it looks like shush.” Sandra was right. It could be a bear, the spirit of courage. But Bernie saw náshdóítsoh, the protector, more clearly.

  Gloria Chino, the potential witness, lived only ten miles from the Shiprock substation, but her road consisted of deep ruts and gaping potholes. Bernie’s unit, an SUV, had good clearance, but she drove slowly, negotiating the challenges, glad there was still a bit of daylight.

  She pulled up in front of a manufactured home with a hogan next to it. A committee of three large dogs, each one brown with black on the ears, legs, tail, or muzzle, came up to the vehicle, growling. Bernie waited, and then a squat woman in a sweater the color of crisp bacon, her black hair in a ponytail, came to the door and called the animals. The dogs grew quiet, but Bernie could feel their eyes on her as she walked toward the front door.

  “I’m Officer Bernadette Manuelito. I’m investigating the bombing last night.” She summarized her conversation with Bruce Chino at the substation.

  The woman nodded and introduced herself with her clans. Bernie did the same. On this part of the reservation she frequently encountered clan sisters, but Gloria wasn’t related. Bernie followed the woman inside. The dogs stayed out but on the alert.

  The house was neat. A well-worn Two Grey Hills blanket covered the couch. A glass case in the corner held shiny brown Navajo pots and painted Pueblo bowls. Bernie saw a well-made wedding basket, sports trophies, and family photos.

  “Bruce told me he was going to stop at the police station in case someone was interested in what I saw. Thanks for coming all the way out here.” Gloria gave her the hint of a smile. “I remember you from the game, giving orders. I thought you were taller.”

  Bernie said, “I would have called, but Mr. Chino said you don’t have a phone.”

  Gloria shook her head. “I keep thinking I’ll find it. Probably will as soon as I get another one. I can’t call it ’cause the battery is dead.” Gloria pushed a strand of stray hair out of her face. “Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

  “That would be great.”

  Gloria took a red plastic cup from the shelf and filled it with water from the kitchen faucet. She cleared a pile of mail from the dining table to reveal orange placemats. “Have a seat.”

  Bernie complied and pulled a notebook from her backpack. Gloria settled across from her. “Shall I start talking now?”

  “Yes. Please go ahead.”

  “Well, we went to the game because my husband, Wilbert, used to play basketball at Crownpoint, and so he remembered playing against some of those guys who won the championship. He knew them a little. Anyway, we had to stop for gas, so we got to the gym kind of late, and Wilbert had to park in the back.

  “At halftime I went outside for a cigarette. I’m trying to stop, so I left them in the truck. So I sat there, cracked the window, and listened to the radio while I smoked. It was cold, but warmer than standing outside, you know? On my way back to the gym I saw the inside lights on in a car in the front row. I thought, that person’s battery will be dead before the game is over. I used to have a car and the glove box didn’t stay closed, so the light came on and then the battery went dead. I went over to check it out, and a guy was sitting in the car. I can’t swear that it
was the car that went boom, but I know it was in the same row.”

  Gloria pushed her hair out of her eyes again.

  Bernie leaned forward. “May I ask you some questions?”

  “OK.”

  “Could you tell what the man was doing?”

  “Not doing much that I could see except sitting there. Like he was thinking or something.”

  “What did he look like?”

  Gloria laughed. “Short black hair, a brown jacket zipped up. No glasses, though, I remember that.”

  “A brown jacket. Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “The seats in that car were brown, too. Looked like leather.”

  “Was he tall? Short?”

  “He was sitting down, so short.”

  “About how old?”

  Gloria pushed her hands together and pressed the upturned fingers against her chin. “Maybe eighteen, twenty, twenty-two. Something like that. He looked too young for such fancy wheels.”

  Bernie made a note. “Had you seen him before?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Bernie heard the hesitation. “But you might have?”

  Gloria waited to answer, studying her fingernails. “Well, just between us, I go to AA meetings. I’m not supposed to talk about who else is there, but I might have seen him. But maybe not. Like I said, it was dark.”

  The dogs started barking, and Gloria stopped talking until they fell silent. Then she said, “Do you think that man put the bomb in the car?”

  “I don’t know. Can you give me his name?”

  “It’s against the AA rules.”

  Bernie said, “I think the man you saw died in the explosion. His name will help me find his family, let them know what happened to him.”

  Gloria pressed her lips together. “I only know the first name. Rick. I hope it wasn’t him.”

  “Ahéhee. Thank you for telling me that, and what you saw. Anything else?”

  Gloria said, “When I was walking toward the car, it looked like he was bending down. Like he dropped something on the floor maybe, and was getting it.”

  Bernie finished her water. “If you think of anything else, anything at all, let me know.”

  Gloria nodded. “I’ll walk out with you because of the dogs.”

  The pack, clustered outside the door, followed them to the Navajo Police SUV. None barked or growled. Bernie figured they didn’t object when visitors left.

  It was dark now, and colder. The heater in Bernie’s unit sounded like a motorcycle revving up, but it worked quickly. The SUV had almost warmed to comfortable when she reached the station.

  She added notes from the interview to the rest of the day’s results and sent a message about the man Gloria identified as Rick to the captain with a cc to Cordova. She mentioned the AA connection, and the fact that this meeting lead, if it was verifiable, tied him to the Shiprock area. She told Largo she’d check in at the AA meeting, out of uniform, tomorrow.

  She ordered the pizza and left the station, happier than she’d been all day. A lead. A small one, but it could mean that the man who died—she’d call him Rick—would be more than another lost soul. Someone would have to tell his relatives. She snuggled into her warm Navajo Police jacket and climbed into the frigid Toyota. Despite the miles she’d put on it, the car kept going and she appreciated it. It had been in her life longer than Chee. She turned off the heater to spare herself the blast of cold air until the engine had a chance to warm. The Tercel started right up.

  She encountered the normal handful of vehicles on US 491. Everyone seemed to be behaving. She searched the folds of her brain for a glimpse of a man in a blue jacket, or maybe a blue sweatshirt with a hood, among those she’d encountered in the gym, the person Julie Pahe thought could be suspicious. Were two men involved in the explosion, or was blue hoodie just a guy who enjoyed standing outside in the cold?

  She thought about Leaphorn, and how skillfully he called attention to the details she overlooked. She needed to brainstorm with him.

  Curious to see the site of the explosion again, she turned onto US 64. The parking lot stood empty, cleaner than it had been before the incident, the crime scene investigators done with their jobs. It was rare to find it vacant in November; the school events on the schedule must have been canceled. All that marked the death of a man in a brown jacket was the scar on the pavement made by the blast.

  She wondered what the dead man’s family thought about his absence. Did he have a girlfriend, a brother who worried about him the same way she had worried about her sister last summer when Darleen hadn’t come home or answered her phone?

  Her Toyota seemed colder, the night darker. She gave her head a quick shake to dispell the bad memory, feeling the weight of her hair as it moved. She turned on the heat. The whirr of the fan and the cold air turning to warm on her feet and legs helped to push the image of the burned man aside.

  At home, she took a shower, put on her soft old jeans, a sweater, and her favorite silver-and-coral earrings. She thought about the warm pizza and a sweet, bubbly Coke to go with it and about the pleasure of being with Mama and Darleen. She thought of how lucky she was to have them close enough that they could share dinner.

  The pizza sat boxed and ready when she got to the restaurant. She placed it in the front seat next to her and wrapped it in a blanket. As she drove the dirt roads she knew so well to Mama’s house, the aroma of yeasty crust, cheese, and tomato sauce deliciously filled the car.

  Darleen had set the table with plates, forks, and little packages of cheese and red pepper left over from previous pizzas. Mama pushed her walker from the living room and sat in her usual place. Bernie opened the box, and the smell of warm crust, melted cheese, and pepperoni made her mouth water.

  “Hold on,” Darleen said. “I’ll get the salad.” She put a bowl of lettuce, chopped cucumbers, bell peppers, and what looked like little beige balls on the table, went back to the fridge, and brought out two bottles of salad dressing. “It won’t hurt us to eat some vegetables. I asked for mushrooms, but I know you always get pepperoni pizza.”

  Mama said, “I like it.”

  “Me, too.” Bernie put her napkin in her lap. “The sauce has tomato—that’s a vegetable. Add the pepper flakes and we’re practically vegetarians. Except for the meat.”

  Darleen said, “In my class, we had these people come in and they talked about eating the old ways like our ancestors, and how people are getting sick—diabetes, heart disease, other bad stuff—because of so much fake food.”

  Her sister had given her a glass of water, not the bubbly sweet Coke she’d dreamed of. Bernie served some salad to Mama, then put a slice of pizza on her plate. She gave herself a slice with plenty of pepperoni and added some packaged cheese and red pepper flakes. She offered Mama a packet of cheese and passed the salad to Darleen.

  Mama said, “We saw that car that blew up on TV. The one at the high school. Do you know about that?”

  “Yes.”

  Darleen filled her plate with salad. “That whole deal weirded me out. Why would someone do that? This isn’t New York freakin’ City.”

  “Motive is a big question right now. A bunch of federal agencies are working to figure it out.”

  “It’s crazy.” Darleen put her fork down. “I was almost there. Stoop Man and I were going to go to the game, but then his car wouldn’t start.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t there. I’ve never seen so much confusion. The parking lot was a mess. Some people spent hours there and had to have their cars towed. It was lucky that only one person was hurt.” She meant killed, but hurt was good enough.

  Mama said, “Were you there?”

  “I wanted to watch the game—you know some of those old guys went to school with me.” Bernie took another bite of the pizza, thinking of how to avoid this conversation. “The FBI handles major crimes like that and they offer all kinds of special training for those officers. They know what to do if something blows up.”

  “I’d
think one of those FBI schools is near Washington, right?” Darleen laughed. “I’d like to go to Washington, see the White House and stuff like that. I’d like to go anywhere. Road trip!”

  Bernie enjoyed the chewy, salty pepperoni. Chee always wanted different toppings, things like eggplant, pineapple, and Canadian bacon. Not her. She liked predictability. Why mess with perfection by adding mushrooms?

  Darleen passed her the salad again. “Here, have some. It’s good for you.”

  Bernie put the bowl on the table. The little balls the color of coffee with milk did not belong in a salad. “What are those roundish things?”

  Darleen stabbed two with her fork and held them up for inspection. “They’re garbanzos, a kind of bean that’s really nutritious.”

  “How do they taste?”

  “Great. They’re kind of nutty, sweet, and starchy. Right, Mama?”

  Bernie noticed that their mother had separated the garbanzos from the greens and was eating them, one by one.

  “I like them.” Mama put two in her mouth. “Try it.”

  “I want to enjoy the pizza while it’s hot.”

  But Mama passed the bowl to her anyway with a look that said, Take some. So Bernie spooned some greens and chopped tomato and cucumber onto her plate. Even though she tried to avoid the garbanzos, she accidentally scooped up a few. She poured on the Thousand Island.

  “What’s the Cheeseburger doing tonight?” Darleen asked. She used the nickname she and Mama had invented for Jim Chee.

  “He’s in Tuba City at that big meeting on the Grand Canyon development.”

  “I heard about that. Why did he have to go?”

  “A bunch of VIPs will be there, and after the car blew up, Chee got asked to help as a sort of bodyguard for the mediator. At least he doesn’t have to drive back and forth. The department pays for a room at a motel there.”

  “How long will he be gone?”

  “I don’t know. Neither does he.”

  “As long as it takes,” Mama said. “He can bring the loom over later. We’ve been using the one at the senior center and that works. Over there, we get coffee and cookies, too. I’m glad you sent that lady to me. She’s real nice.”

 

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