Part 12 (1/2)

Chee felt a sick premonition. He hesitated.

”I know who you are,” Hoski said. ”You are a policeman. I have seen you on the TV news. At the court trial of that man who killed his brother-in-law, and then last week at that head-on collision out on Highway Six Sixty-Six. I'll bet you have the same ghost sickness-the very same ghost-as the man I will be singing for.”

”Yes,” Chee said. ”It is a job that causes you to be around too much death.”

”Were you around the corpse of this man who was shot up in the Coyote Canyon country? That would make it very easy. That was the same man.”

Chee swallowed. He didn't want to ask this question. He was almost certain he didn't want to know the answer. Or what to do with it if it was what he expected.

”Who is your other patient?” Chee asked.

”I think you might know of him,” Hoski said. ”Hostiin James Peshlakai.”

21.

Sergeant Jim Chee usually enjoyed driving, but the journey from Hostiin Hoski's high-country sheep meadow to Gallup's Gold Avenue offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation had been totally glum. He had made Osborne very aware of his opinion that Hostiin James Peshlakai was not a promising suspect in the Doherty homicide. Now his sense of duty, or honor, or whatever he could call it, required him to reverse that. Not that he thought Osborne had lent much weight to his opinion or, for that matter, would lend any weight at all to Peshlakai's arranging a Big Star Way for himself. However, Chee was an officer of the law. Duty required it. Why hadn't he been smart enough to leave well enough alone?

He could deal with that, of course. He'd simply tell Osborne what he had found, try to explain the implications, try not to notice that Osborne's interest, if he showed any at all, was simply polite, and then forget it-just as...o...b..rne would.

But another problem that had surfaced on this trip wouldn't go away. He was finally facing the fact that he was falling in love with Officer Bernadette Manuelito.

That, too, was a matter of honor. He was Bernie's supervisor, and that, under Chee's ethical code, made her off limits and out of bounds. Besides he didn't know whether Bernie shared his feelings. She liked him, or at least pretended to as employees sometimes do. She had referred to him as ”sweet” with a tone and a look that was obviously sincere even by Chee's uncertain judgment. But what he had done for her had been a bit risky, even after Leaphorn's a.s.sistance took most of the risk away. Therefore, it was only natural that a well-raised woman would express her thanks. So how could he find out where he stood? By romancing her, or trying to. But how could he do that as long as he was the fellow ordering her around every day? He couldn't think of a good way. And what would happen if he did?

Chee parked just down the street from the FBI offices, pushed the buzzer, identified himself, and was clicked in. He made his way through the metal detector and past the row of cubicles where agents did their paperwork, then found Osborne awaiting him in a hearing room. They exchanged the usual greetings.

”Well,” said Osborne, ”what's new?”

”I've had to change my thinking about James Peshlakai,” Chee said. ”I think you'll want to take a close look at him.”

”Why? Something happen?”

”Remember what I started telling you about a curing ceremony that traditionals have after being involved with death, or corpses, or violence? Well, I checked on that. Peshlakai has arranged one.”

Osborne was sitting behind his desk, studying Chee. He nodded.

”He contacted a singer and arranged it the same day Doherty's body was found. In the morning.”

Osborne's expression was inscrutable. ”Was it something called a Big Star Way?” he asked. ”Is that it?”

Short silence while Chee digested this. ”Well, yes,” he said. ”That's the one.”

”He told us he had to be out of jail in October to have that done.”

”Out? You picked him up?”

”We got a warrant. Searched his place and his truck. The truck seems to be clean, so far anyway, but there was dried blood on a s.h.i.+rt. He'd tried to wash it, but getting blood out isn't easy. Blood on a pair of pants, too. It's not Peshlakai's blood type, but it matches Doherty's. The forensic people are doing DNA checks now.”

Chee had taken a chair across from Osborne. He got up now, hesitated. Sat down again. He felt like a fool. And yet something still seemed wrong about this. One thing, specifically: No one is more conditioned against violence than those who spend years and years learning the curing ways of the Dineh.

”I guess he's held in the county jail?” Chee said. ”I'd like to talk to him.”

”Why not,” Osborne said. ”I hope you have better luck than we did.”

”Did he say he wanted a lawyer?”

”We told him the court would appoint him a public defender. All he said was something like it being a bad business. It wasn't good to talk about.”

”That's it?”

”Pretty much. Except we've found another slug in the sand out at that old placer site. It's the right caliber to match Peshlakai's rifle, but we don't have a report from the laboratory yet. And then he told us he had to be released in time for the sing, or whatever you call it.”

”The slug could have been shot at anything,” Chee said.

”Obviously,” Osborne said. ”They're looking for traces of blood, or bone, or fabric on it.”

”Have you learned anything about the cellphone?”

Osborne considered that a moment. He opened his desk drawer, extracted a pencil, tapped it on the desk, and said: ”Cellphone? Like what?”

”Like I was surprised he had one. Do you know where he got it? Or why?”

”The why looks obvious to me,” Osborne said. ”No telephone lines in there.”

”I meant, who would he be calling? Who would he know who'd have a telephone number. That sort of thing. I presume you checked his calling log.”

Osborne tapped with the pencil again, looking thoughtful.

Chee grinned. ”Let me guess what you're thinking. You're remembering that when you checked in here, you were warned that one of your predecessors got in trouble for saying some things that maybe he shouldn't have said to me, and it was generally believed I had unethically and illegally taped that call-or at very least had caused people to believe I had taped it. Therefore, you're being careful. I don't blame you. Part of that is true, or partly true. But we have a different situation here. We're on the same side of this one, in the first place. Besides, I don't have any way to tape this.”

Osborne was grinning, too.

”Since you're not wired, I'll admit I heard about that business, and I also heard it turned out you were right. We had the wrong guy in that one. But this time it looks like we have the right one. And if we don't, if the DNA turns out wrong or we don't find other evidence, then he's free as a bird.”

He reopened the drawer, put the pencil away. ”So what are you asking me?”

”Who Peshlakai was calling on that cellphone.”

”Not much of anybody,” Osborne said. ”He had it a couple of years and only thirty-seven calls were logged in that time. Most of them to his daughter over at Keams Canyon. A couple of other kinfolks, a doctor in Gallup.”

”How about any calls to Wiley Denton?”

Osborne looked thoughtful. ”Denton?” he said. ”Now, why would Mr. Peshlakai be calling Mr. Denton?”

”How about like you'd call a taxi,” Chee said, swallowing a twinge of resentment at this game playing. ”Perhaps he wanted a ride home.”