Part 6 (1/2)

”I know that,” said Silk s.h.i.+rt, getting to her feet with a graceful motion. ”Did Agent Kennedy explain to you ... did Agent Kennedy explain to Mr. Bistie ... that a citizen, even a Navajo citizen, has a right to consult with an attorney before he undergoes a cross-examination?”

”We read him-”

”And do you know,” Silk s.h.i.+rt asked, forming each word with icy precision, ”that you have absolutely no legal right to hold Mr. Bistie here in this jail with no charge against him whatsoever, and knowing that he didn't commit the homicide you arrested him for, just because you 'want to talk to him'?”

”He's being held for investigation,” Chee said, aware that his face was flushed, aware that Officer Fritz Langer of the Farmington Police Department was standing there behind the reception desk, watching all this. Chee s.h.i.+fted his position. From the corner of his eye he could see Langer was not only listening, he was grinning.

”He admitted taking a shot-”

”Without advice of counsel,” Silk s.h.i.+rt said. ”And now, just at your request and without any legal grounds at all, Mr. Bistie is being held here by the police while you take your time driving over from s.h.i.+prock so you can talk to him. Just a favor from one good old boy to another.”

The grin disappeared from Langer's face. ”The paperwork,” he said. ”It takes time when the federals are involved.”

”Paperwork, my b.u.t.t,” Silk s.h.i.+rt snapped. ”It's the good old boy network at work.” She pointed a thumb in Chee's direction, something one polite Navajo did not do to another. ”Your buddy here calls you and says keep him locked up until I can get around to talking to him. Stall around all day if you have to.”

”Naw,” Langer said. ”Nothing like that. You know how the Federal Bureau of Investigation is about crossing all the t t's and dotting the i i's.”

”Well, Mr. Chee is here now. Can you get the i i dotted and release Mr. Bistie?” dotted and release Mr. Bistie?”

Langer made a wry face at Chee, lifted the telephone, and talked to someone. ”He'll be out in a minute,” he said. He reached under the counter, extracted a brown paper grocery bag, and put it on the countertop. It bore the legend r. bistie, west wing in red Magic Marker. Chee felt a yearning to explore that paper sack. He should have thought of it earlier. Much earlier. Before Silk s.h.i.+rt arrived. He smiled at Silk s.h.i.+rt.

”All I need is just a few minutes. Just some information.”

”About what?”

”Well,” Chee said, ”if we knew why Bistie wanted to kill Endocheeney-and he says he wanted to kill him,” he inserted hastily, ”then maybe we'd know more about why someone else did kill Endocheeney. Stabbed Endocheeney. Later.”

”Make an appointment,” Silk s.h.i.+rt said. ”Maybe he'll want to talk to you.” She paused, looking at Chee. ”And maybe he won't.”

”I guess we could pick him up again,” Chee said. ”As a material witness. Something like that.”

”I guess you could,” she said. ”But it better be legal this time. Now he'll be represented by someone who understands that even a Navajo has some const.i.tutional rights.”

Roosevelt Bistie came through the door, trailed by an elderly jailer. The jailer patted him on the shoulder. ”Come see us,” he said, and disappeared back through the doorway.

”Mr. Bistie,” Silk s.h.i.+rt said. ”I am Janet Pete. We were told you needed legal counsel and the DNA sent me over to represent you. To be your lawyer.”

Bistie nodded to her. ”Ya-tah-hey,” ”Ya-tah-hey,” he said. He looked at Chee. Nodded. Smiled. ”I don't need no lawyer,” he said. ”They told me somebody else killed the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h. I missed him.” Bistie chuckled when he said it, but to Chee he still looked sick. he said. He looked at Chee. Nodded. Smiled. ”I don't need no lawyer,” he said. ”They told me somebody else killed the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h. I missed him.” Bistie chuckled when he said it, but to Chee he still looked sick.

”You need a lawyer to tell you to be careful what you say,” Janet Pete said, glancing at Chee. And then, to Langer: ”And we need a place where my client and I can talk. In private.”

”Sure,” Langer said. He handed Bistie the sack and pointed. ”Down the hall. First door to the left.”

”Miss Pete,” Chee said. ”When you're talking to your client, would you ask him if I can talk to him for a minute or two? Otherwise ...”

”Otherwise what?”

”Otherwise I'll have to drive all the way up into the Lukachukais to his place and talk to him there,” Chee said meekly. ”And just to ask three or four questions I forgot to ask him earlier.”

”I'll see,” Janet Pete said, and disappeared down the hall after Bistie.

Chee looked out the window. The lawn needed water. What was it about white men that caused them to plant gra.s.s in places where gra.s.s couldn't possibly grow without them fiddling with it all the time? Chee had thought about that a lot, and talked to Mary Landon about it. He'd told Mary he thought it represented a subconscious need to remind themselves that they could defy nature. Mary said no, it wasn't need for remembered beauty. Chee looked at the lawn, and at the desert country visible across the San Juan beyond it. He preferred the desert. Today even the fringe of tumbleweeds along the sidewalk looked wilted. Dry heat everywhere and the sky almost cloudless.

”I didn't tell her you'd asked me to stall,” Langer said, apologetically. ”She figured that out for herself.”

”Oh, well,” Chee said. ”I don't think she likes cops, anyway.” A thought materialized abruptly. ”You remember what was in Bistie's sack?”

Langer looked surprised at the question. He shrugged. ”Usual stuff. Billfold. Keys to his truck. Pocket knife. One of those little deerskin sacks some of you guys carry. Handkerchief. Nothing unusual.”

”Did you look in the billfold?”

”We have to inventory the money,” Langer said. He sorted through papers on a clipboard. ”Had a ten and three ones and seventy-three cents in change. Driver's license. So forth.”

”Anything else you remember?”

”I didn't check him in,” Langer said. ”Al did. On the evening s.h.i.+ft. Says here: 'Nothing else of value.' ”

Chee nodded.

”What you looking for?”

”Just fis.h.i.+ng,” Chee said.

”Speaking of which,” Langer said, ”can you get a permit for fis.h.i.+ng up there at Wheatfields Lake? Free, I mean.”

”Well,” Chee said. ”I guess you know-”

Janet Pete appeared at the hall door. ”He says he'll talk to you.”

”I thank you,” Chee said.

The room held a bare wooden table and two chairs. Roosevelt Bistie sat in one of them, eyes half closed, face sagging. But he returned Chee's salutation. Chee put his hand on the back of the other chair, glanced at Janet Pete. She was leaning against the wall behind Bistie, watching Chee. The paper sack was under Bistie's chair.

”Could we talk in private?” Chee asked her.

”I'm Mr. Bistie's legal counsel,” she said. ”I'll stay.”

Chee sat down, feeling defeated. It had never been likely that Bistie would talk. He hadn't, after all, in the past. It was even less likely that he would talk about the subject Chee intended to raise, which was witchcraft. There was a simple enough reason for that. Witches hated to be talked about-to even have their evil business discussed. Therefore the prudent Navajo discussed witchcraft, if at all, only with those known and trusted. Not with a stranger. Certainly not with two strangers. However, there was no harm in trying.

”I have heard something which I think you would like to know,” Chee said. ”I will tell you what I heard. And then I will ask you a question. I hope you will give me an answer. But if you won't, you won't.”

Bistie looked interested. So did Janet Pete.

”First,” Chee said, speaking slowly, intent on Bistie's expression, ”I will tell you what the people over at the Badwater Wash Trading Post hear. They hear that a little piece of bone was found in the body of that man you took a shot at.”

There was a lag of a second or two. Then Bistie smiled a very slight smile. He nodded at Chee.

Chee glanced at Janet Pete. She looked puzzled. ”Understand that I do not know if this is true,” Chee said. ”I will go to the hospital where the body of that man was taken and I will try to find out if it was true. Should I tell you what I find out?”