Cave of Bones

by Anne Hillerman

  The bullet crashed through the glass behind them. Bernie scrambled to her feet as she watched Franklin sprint out the door toward the driveway. She looked at Merilee. “You OK?”

  “Yeah. He’s running for my car.”

  By the time Bernie got outside, all she could see was the back bumper of the black SUV speeding down the snow-covered street.

  22

  Jim Chee got to the classroom for the morning’s training a few minutes early, hoping to encounter the deputy he knew from the Cibola County Sheriff’s Department. He was in luck. After some small talk, Chee got to the point. “I’m trying to find a rancher out your way who might have hired a guy whose family is worried about him. They can’t remember or never knew where he was working, except that it was a ranch in Cibola County. He hasn’t come back or contacted them.”

  The officer smiled. “What a bad boy. Well, at least they know the county where he’s supposed to be. The best person to talk to would be Cris Manzanares. Maybe you’ve met him?”

  “I’ve heard the name. My wife worked with him a little on the search that’s under way out in the Malpais.”

  “Yeah, he lives outside of Grants, and his family has run cattle there for years. He might be able to help you. Most ranchers aren’t hiring in the winter. Hold on. I’ll give you his cell.”

  The deputy pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons. “Ready for his number?”

  “Thanks. This is convenient.”

  “He’s my poker buddy.”

  Chee checked the time and then walked out into the hall to make the call. When Manzanares answered, Chee explained the situation about George Curley.

  “That’s an easy question. George worked on the ranch for me, oh, it must have been for a couple weeks, and then said he was leaving for home. That was the last I saw of him.”

  “When did the job end?”

  “Oh, probably mid-November.”

  “What was he doing for you?”

  “I’ve been selling some lava rock for landscaping. He was helping with that.”

  “So your place is in the Malpais?”

  “My family has been there for years. Why all the questions?” Manzanares chuckled. “Don’t tell me. Curley got himself in some kinda jam.”

  “Could be.” Chee thought about it. “When Curley said he was going home, did he say back to his wife or back to his mother?”

  “He didn’t say. He wasn’t much of a talker.”

  “His mother and his wife are both worried about him.”

  “Too bad. I wish I could be of more help.”

  The hallway had started to clear when Chee ended the call, but he had one more piece of business to take care of before class. It was time to ask Caitlyn for the photo. George Curley should have been home by now. He sent her a text. He’d need the photos when he took the next step and notified area law enforcement to activate the missing person network.

  When the class ended at noon, Chee felt inspired and motivated to do all he could to help find missing kids and elders. He silently thanked Largo for sending him. He saw a text from Caitlyn with instructions for picking up her husband’s photo—a crucial part of locating the man if he actually was a missing person.

  He had arranged to meet Darleen for coffee before he drove back to Mama’s house, and he found her at the IAIA cafeteria. She sat with a glass of water, fiddling with her phone. He got some coffee and a sandwich and joined her.

  “Hi.” Darleen said, smiling at him. Last night’s drama seemed to have happened in a parallel universe. “How was your class?”

  “Great, but I’m eager to get home.” He unwrapped his sandwich. “Want half?”

  “No, thanks. Save it for the trip. Guess what?” She didn’t pause for him to speculate. “We made good progress on the video last night. It looks terrific, and Herbert added some cool stuff to the narration on his own. I wish you could have stayed and watched. CS will start the final edits tonight. They agreed to give him more time in the studio. Will you tell Sister I have to stay another day? The dorm people already said it was OK. No charge! I’ll talk to her and Mama about this, but if I can’t reach them, will you tell her, as a backup? I don’t want her to freak.”

  “Sure. This sounds great. Will CS bring you home?”

  “No, he has to hang here a few more days. Herbert said he’d give me a ride first thing tomorrow.”

  Chee frowned.

  “Don’t be grumpy, Cheeseburger. The guy is OK. He said he’d buy me lunch, too, because I gave him the drawing.” She sipped her water. “I’m glad I told you about the bruise. I was embarrassed, but, well, I’m putting it behind me and moving on with my art. It feels good to not have that secret.”

  Chee sipped his coffee and realized that, except for the question of what had happened to George Curley, he felt good, too. Darleen talked on about the drawings she was planning, about London, about other people she’d met, and more. The Darleen he knew was back.

  After half an hour, he wrapped up the uneaten half of his sandwich. “I’ve got to get on the road. Take care and I’ll see you soon. Sure you don’t want this?”

  Darleen took it. “Thanks, Cheeseburger. Be safe out there.”

  His next stop was Tesuque Pueblo. Caitlyn had texted that her mother would leave a photo of Curley for him in a brown envelope under the doormat. Instead, the old woman handed the envelope to him. She wasted no energy on civility.

  “I gave you the picture in here because it shows the truck.” She tapped the envelope with her index finger. “Find that truck for my daughter. We need it, and she’s the one who makes the payments.”

  “Thank you for the photo. We’ll do what we can.”

  She made a snorting sound and closed the door.

  He opened the envelope, prepared to ask Mrs. Vigil for another photograph if the one she’d handed him was too much truck and not enough Curley. There were three photos. The largest was color and showed a small, slim Navajo man looking directly at the camera, standing at the back of a white pickup truck. The tailgate was up, and the truck looked new. The yellow-and-red New Mexico license plate and a dark blue bumper sticker showed clearly in the picture. There were also two small shots of the truck, including one that coincidently captured Curley in profile.

  Chee put the envelope on the passenger seat of his pickup. He’d let the captain and the rookie deal with this. Maybe the department would issue a BOLO, asking fellow law enforcement to be on the lookout for Curley and the Ford. Maybe Curley would give his wife or his mother a phone call and ease their worry. Maybe he’d come home. Or maybe the department would find his truck on someone’s used vehicle lot in Gallup or Farmington or Chinle or Tuba City or even Flagstaff. Whatever. He’d done his part to solve the mystery. Time, finally, to head home.

  The storm that had stranded Bernie in Grants was long past, replaced by strikingly blue skies. Snow lay beneath the ponderosas as he crossed onto the Jicarilla Apache Reservation. Beyond that, the sandstone formations were partly buried beneath white caps. He passed the turnoff for Chaco Canyon and Nageezi and was rolling toward the oil and gas country outside of Farmington. He was thinking about Bernie, the wonderful smell of her hair and the delicious smoothness of her skin, and how he’d missed her, when his phone buzzed. He put it on speaker, and Captain Largo’s voice filled the truck.

  “Where are you?”

  Chee told him.

  “Good. Take a nap if that appeals to you, and then come on in. I need you to work the late shift.”

  23

  While she drove in the direction she’d seen Franklin take, Bernie called the Cibola County sheriff’s department to describe Merilee’s stolen car and the man who drove it.

  “Too bad the interstate is open. That makes the search tougher. And the plows worked on the local streets last night.”

  “Franklin might head out to the Malpais.” She explained.

  “We’ll contact the search crew and state police. Thanks for the heads-up. Someone is on his way now t
o the house to talk to Ms. Cruz.”

  The Cibola County sheriff’s deputy sent to interview Merilee about the incident was still there when Bernie returned. He was young and efficient and helped arrange cardboard over the shattered glass to keep the heat in the greenhouse. She couldn’t imagine Wilson Sam doing that.

  Bernie filled in some blanks and described Franklin’s distraught behavior the previous night. The deputy took notes and then said, “My boss asked me to tell you to check in with your captain.”

  “Sure thing.” Bernie grabbed her belongings and walked to her unit. She called the Shiprock station, expecting to talk to Sandra, but the captain answered. “What about the old bones you hiked to? You never gave me a follow-up.”

  “Sorry, sir. It looked like another looted gravesite. The incident commander said they won’t disturb it since I verified there was no sign of Mr. Cruz. Cultural affairs knows about them. Well, I hope they do. I left a detailed message and sent photos.”

  “And what about the Wings and Roots problem?”

  She told him about the anonymous donations that kept the program afloat, adding “They are having some challenges, but all the tribal money is accounted for.”

  “I need you back here ASAP to get Walker off my back. Tell the councilor what you learned. Did you find a place to stay last night?”

  “Yes, sir, and there are some interesting developments in the story of Mr. Cruz and his disappearance.” She explained about the pot stolen from the trunk of her unit, the gunshot, and the stolen car.

  “Did you mention your suspicion about the pots to the state police?”

  “No, sir.” She added the Manzanares component.

  Largo was silent a moment. “Interesting. The new FBI agent asked me if we knew anything else about Larry Hoffman, the ranger who died after that car wreck. I’ll pass this along to her. She might call you. She’s also interested in the looting.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bernie pulled onto the entrance ramp for the interstate. The highway was slushy and red from the mixture of salt and sand used to help clear it. Traffic seemed about normal. The sun was out and added a glimmer to the frosting of snow on the lava beside the highway. Beauty all around her.

  Largo intruded on her meditation. “I’ll bring Walker into the office now, and you can deal with her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The councilor’s voice came over the phone, crabby as ever. “I’ve been trying to reach you for more than twenty-four hours, Officer. Thanks a lot for being so responsive.”

  Bernie let the comment go. “Councilor, I reviewed the Wings and Roots paperwork, and you’re right. It seems that there are some discrepancies.”

  “I thought so.”

  “As I read it, the agency should never have agreed to the tribe’s arrangement. There was too little money offered for too many students. The program director and her staff and the board lived up to the stipulations of the grant. According to the minutes, they made attempts to notify the tribe that there was trouble with the ground rules, and those notifications were addressed to you and, well, they were all ignored.”

  “You must be wrong about that.” Bernie heard some muffled sounds, as though Walker had put her hand over the receiver. Then the councilor was back. “I was the contact person, and all they ever sent were big envelopes with the minutes and the budget reports.”

  Bernie thought about the next question. “I know you’re busy on the council. Could it be that some of the mail they sent didn’t get to you? Or didn’t get opened?”

  The phone went silent.

  Bernie spoke. “Someone made anonymous donations to subsidize the group that the tribe had agreed to fund.”

  “It was the director’s own stupidity that caused the problem.”

  “You mentioned that if there was no evidence that Cooper or anyone in the group had done something wrong, you’d lobby for more money for the kids.”

  “I remember. I need to see the proof, and—” The sound from the phone became muffled again: more mumbling, then Walker’s voice, impatient. “Someone says she has to talk to you.”

  A younger female voice came on the line. “Officer Manuelito, it’s Annie.”

  “Hi, Annie. Go ahead.”

  “I need to tell you something important. Not on the phone. Can we please meet somewhere?”

  “What do you want to talk about?” Bernie heard Walker in the background, yelling something at Annie.

  “It’s about Mr. Cruz.”

  “Just tell me now.”

  “I can’t because it’s about . . . oh, Mom, wait.” The background noise sounded louder, and then she heard Walker say “Cruz?” and the rumble of Largo’s voice. Then Walker was shouting something she couldn’t decipher.

  “Annie, are you there?”

  After some silence, Largo came on the phone. “You still there, Manuelito?”

  The background noise had evaporated. “Are we still on speaker?”

  “Yes, but Walker and Annie left. The mom wasn’t expecting that sort of conversation. I told them to wait outside, calm down.”

  “I knew that girl wasn’t telling me the whole truth about Cruz. Maybe she knows something we can pass along to the search team. Can you put her back on the phone? I’d like to talk to her again.”

  “And I’d like to lose ten pounds by Késhmish. I’ll check back with Walker when she cools off, but don’t hold your breath. I doubt that the girl really has anything important to say, but if she does, we need Walker there as a witness. I’ll work on persuading her.”

  “Thanks, Captain. Christmas is still a few weeks away, you know.”

  “If Walker agrees to let you talk to Annie, maybe you can take her out for a burger or something. You’ll get more information outside the station, even with her mother hanging over her like a bear with her cub. I’ll talk to Walker about it. Tell her you’ll have to record it. I’ll have Sandra call you if she says yes. You need to do this ASAP.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Two hours later, the three of them—Annie, Councilor Walker, and Bernie in her uniform—squeezed around a table at That’s A Burger. Bernie ordered hamburgers and Cokes for everyone, charging it to the office.

  Walker offered her a five-dollar bill, but Bernie waved it away. “I don’t want you to think you can bribe me.”

  Stone-faced, Walker slipped the money back in her pocket. They sat silently until the food came and they’d had a few bites. Annie looked nervous. Councilor Walker seemed annoyed, as usual. Bernie focused on the food. Then she took her notebook and a pen from the backpack, turned on the recorder, and started the session with time of day, place, and those present.

  “Annie, you told me on the phone that you needed to tell me something more about Mr. Cruz. Because I think what you have to say might be important, I’m recording this session and taking notes. Is that all right with you and your mom?”

  “Fine.” Walker’s voice was hard. “Get it over with.”

  Annie fiddled with the straw and then looked up. “Does my mother have to be here?”

  “Yes, I have to be here, but Officer Manuelito is in charge and I’m not going to say anything. Pretend I’m back home.”

  The girl fidgeted some more, then glanced out the window.

  Bernie leaned toward her. “I’m listening. You said that you wanted to tell me something important about Mr. Cruz. You can start whenever you’re ready.”

  Annie put the straw down. “So, do you remember how I told you that I heard Mr. Cruz walking behind me, and then I didn’t hear him, and when I turned around he was gone?”

  “Yes. You said he had a bell on his pack, and that’s how you knew he was there. Is that right?”

  “Yes. Yeah. Well, I forgot to say that we were on a tricky part of the trail.”

  “Tricky? Can you tell me what you mean?”

  “Get on with it, Annie.” Walker’s voice dripped with impatience. “You—”

  Bernie gave the councilor the behave-yourself look she’d
practiced on misbehaving teens. The attitude might bring repercussions later, but it worked to stop the interruption.

  Annie moved the index finger of her right hand to stroke each little gold ball in her ear. “Tricky, you know, like dangerous or something. Part of it, I mean the lava, was real sharp, and there were cracks you could fall into, and some of it was slick because of the ice in the shade. So I kept looking down. I asked Mr. Cruz if I should go back and get my tent and my other stuff, and he said no, he would take care of it. He said that place where I was, that cave, was sacred, and I wasn’t supposed to be there. He said I should walk back to camp as quickly and carefully as I could.” Bernie heard her voice begin to grow tight, but Annie kept talking. “He said he was glad I wasn’t hurt.”

  She stopped and took a gulp of her Coke.

  Annie’s mother shifted in her chair, as if she wanted to inject something. Bernie gave her The Look again and turned her focus to the girl.

  “What happened next?”

  “Mr. Cruz told me to go first so the pace would be what I could handle. He said he wanted to see if I could find the way back without his help. I didn’t tell you that already, did I?”

  “No, you didn’t mention that.”

  She sat without moving, staring straight ahead. “So we were walking. I heard that little bell, like I said, and I kept going, thinking about how mad Cooper would be. The bell didn’t ring all the time, I guess because of the way he had it tied onto the pack.”

  She stopped talking, fingering her earrings again. “Then I heard something different. A strange kind of noise. Like I told you, I was ahead of him, so I turned around, but I couldn’t see him. I yelled, ‘Hey, Mr. Cruz, are you there?’ but he didn’t answer.”

  “And then what happened?” Bernie saw Annie’s eyes grow shiny and then the tears on her cheeks. “Go ahead. It’s OK.”

  “I ran back to camp, and Cooper was all over me about breaking the rules, so I made up a story that I hadn’t seen him so she’d shut up. And I kept waiting for Mr. Cruz to come back. But he didn’t. I thought he would be OK. He said he was testing me, and I thought that was it.”