Dark Reservations (34 page)

“So what's the thumbs-up for?” he asked, not letting the opportunity pass.

“Oh, that's Trixie. She's a real spitfire. Been volunteering here for fifteen years. She's almost ninety, but her mind and attitude are no older than nineteen.”

She was being coy. He was about to press her for the real meaning of Trixie's gesture, when a man spoke.

“Excuse me, Sierra.”

It was the ponytail guy, the same one who had interrupted their last meeting. Joe could smell the man's testosterone even from this distance.

“Hello, Paul.” She turned to Joe. “This is Paul Drake, our director of acquisitions. Paul, this is Joe Evers. He's … he's a friend.”

Joe picked up on Sierra's hesitation. Was she trying to hide he was a cop, or was she explaining their relationship to Paul?

They shook hands and stared at each other a moment. Paul seemed to be sizing him up.

“We're about to open the crates for the
Seismosaurus,
” Paul said. “You said you wanted to be there.”

“Why are we doing them now? I thought we planned it for this afternoon.”

“We did, but I saw you finished the
Coelophysis
exhibit, so I thought we might get a jump on the crates. Unless you're otherwise tied up.” Paul looked at Joe.

“Well, I was planning on this afternoon.”

“That's fine. I thought I'd stop by to see if you wanted to do it now, that's all. We can do it later.”

Joe sensed a relationship here, a slight tension between them. Past or present?

“Actually,” Joe said, “I have to go anyway. I need to stop by the office.”

“Are you going back to work already? I thought—” She stopped herself, clasping her hands together.

“No. I'm taking the week off. I just need to check on something.”

Paul said good-bye. Sierra walked Joe out.

Their time together had been nice, but Joe worried he'd misinterpreted her invitation. “I'll be back on the case next week, so I may need to talk with you again about Bobby Lopez. I met him. I didn't know your sister, but he didn't seem like the kind of guy she would have been involved with.”

“She was going to change the world one stray dog at a time. Bobby was broken. She met him at some veterans' event. Congressman Edgerton was there receiving an award, and she went along.”

“Was it the Veterans of Foreign Wars?”

“It could have been. I may have photos. Faye often took photos at the congressman's events. When I cleaned her apartment, I took all of her things, or at least whatever Bobby didn't steal. I still have them all in my attic.”

Joe thanked her for the tour and left. Joe wondered what Sierra's relationship was with Paul Drake. Obviously more than coworkers, but how much more, he didn't know. Ex-lover? Maybe. Hopeful suitor? He hoped not. But he knew he shouldn't be jealous. He'd had twenty-two amazing years with Christine. He shouldn't begrudge another man that same happiness.

O
CTOBER
13

W
EDNESDAY
12:38
P.M.

B
UREAU
OF
I
NDIAN
A
FFAIRS
, O
FFICE
OF
I
NVESTIGATIONS
, A
LBUQUERQUE
, N
EW
M
EXICO

“How are you feeling?” Tenny asked.

“Been better.” The drive to the office from the museum had been painful. “Are you the only one here?”

“Cordelli and Ginny went to lunch. I'm heading out, too. Sadi and Stretch are in Dale's office.”

Joe did an about-face. Something was up. Dale wasn't into powwows around his desk.

At the door, he knocked once, then entered.

Dale looked up from a folder he held in his hand. “Come in, Joe. How're you feeling?”

Stretch stood up, offered Joe his chair. “What the hell're you doing in the office? You're supposed to be resting.”

Joe waved off the seat. “I needed to get out of the apartment. So what's going on?”

“We were talking about Othmann.” Dale said.

“What about him?”

“We think he was behind the shooting.” Sadi said. No attitude.

“Okay.” Joe decided to take Stretch's seat. “Explain.”

“Cordelli ran your incoming numbers and ID'd the caller,” Stretch said. “A cell phone belonging to Eddie Begay. The call to your phone was made in Santa Fe. Cordelli requested a cell-tower trace, and Othmann's estate was in the call zone.”

“Why would Eddie try to take us out?” Joe said. “How is he connected to the Edgerton case?”

“We don't know,” Sadi said. “Maybe he thought you were working his CSA case or investigating the stolen petroglyph.”

That was a lot of maybes. Joe was having difficulty keeping it straight. “I thought you said Eddie was a drunken loser. The guy who shot at me was cool, levelheaded. It wasn't his first time. And where did he get the high-powered rifle and the dirt bike?”

“Yeah, that doesn't sound like our Eddie,” Sadi said. “But we put a lookout for him in NCIC and notified the FBI and Navajo PD. When he turns up, we'll get him. His phone's been inactive since he called you.”

“What if Othmann financed the op?” Joe said. “He brings in someone or uses that Books character to pull it off. Maybe uses Eddie's phone to set it up, and set up Eddie. That I'll buy. Eddie as a patsy. Let's get a search warrant for Othmann's house.”

“With what?” Stretch said. “We have nothing. A theory. No proof. We can't place Eddie's phone. All we have is a phone call made in the vicinity of Othmann's house.”

Joe knew Stretch was right. “So what's the plan?”

“We were about to go out there and talk to him,” Sadi said.

“All you're going to do is tip him off. Isn't that exactly why you didn't want me to talk to him? You were afraid he would get wind of your damn cave-drawing investigation.”

“Petroglyph,” she said. No fire. No anger.

“Well, now it's my turn to say it.” Joe looked directly at Sadi. “Bullshit! He's not going to give you consent to search his house. He's not stupid enough to leave the evidence right out in the open, so you can—” He stopped himself, his mind quickly working through a scenario to see if it made sense.

“What?” Dale said. “You're thinking of something. What is it?”

“We get a search warrant,” Joe said.

Dale sighed. “We can't.”

“We can. We can get a search warrant for the Yei mask.” Joe explained his meeting with Othmann and what Trudle had noticed. “He told us it was authentic. It's in my report. We put that in the affidavit and add Eddie Begay's statement that he sold him the cave drawing, or whatever it is, and we have more than enough probable cause.”

“Why add the petroglyph?” Stretch said. “We have enough with the mask.”

“We know where the mask is. Once we get it, we have to stop the search. My guess is that the petroglyph is hidden or sold. Either way, we get to tear his place apart.”

“Let's get the warrant,” Dale said. “We'll hit his place tomorrow.”

“No, Friday,” Joe said. “Tomorrow's the funeral.”

O
CTOBER
14

T
HURSDAY
9:47
A.M.

R
OLLIE
'
S
F
UNERAL
H
OME
, G
ALLUP
, N
EW
M
EXICO

Cars spilled over from the parking lot and lined Mesquite Drive, starting from Nizhoni Boulevard and extending almost two blocks. A Gallup PD officer directed traffic while two funeral home employees handled parking. Attendance was in the hundreds. More would show up, no doubt. Family, friends, and officers formed groups outside, waiting to go inside to say their good-byes.

Reporters and photographers flitted about. Someone, probably Chief Cornfield, had leaked that Joe and Bluehorse had been following up on a lead in the Edgerton case when Bluehorse was shot. The papers did not have all the facts of the shooting, but that didn't limit the number of articles. Some of them gave a short accounting of Joe's career, not failing to mention the Felix Longman trial. But this time it was not a D-2 story. Now it had front-page prominence because of the Edgerton connection.

Every night since Bluehorse's death, after sunset, family and friends had gathered at the family home to share meals and take part in ceremonies. Joe had not been invited. But now he walked with Melissa through the parking lot to pay his respects to Bluehorse's loved ones, and to privately ask forgiveness from his young partner. He spotted his squad, Andi McBride with them. She wore a black pantsuit. It had been a while since he'd seen her in anything other than 511's and FBI polos.

“Hey, hero,” she said, her voice somber. She gave him a hug.

They all wore their shields on metal chains, a thin black cloth band around each to honor the fallen officer.

He introduced Andi to Melissa. Then small talk began: the weather, the drive, other officers and agents who had fallen over the years, where they would eat after.

A funeral home employee told a large group next to them that they could go in. Several FBI agents were in that group. Joe spotted Mark. They nodded to each other. Joe's squad would probably be part of the next group called. His stomach recoiled at the thought of meeting the family.

“Let's talk,” Andi said. The anguish on her face told him she didn't want to say her final farewell yet, either.

They walked away from the group.

“McKinley Country Search and Rescue agreed to help out. I also have three dogs coming in. We're set for Saturday. If there are more bodies out there, we'll find them.”

He nodded. “I have another favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

“I got a lead on a forty-five.” He told her about Edgerton's engraved Colt 1911. “I'm guessing his wife should still have it. Can you get it from her and send it in for comparison?”

She pointed. “Why don't we both ask her?”

Grace Edgerton stepped from a black Lincoln Town Car parked on Nizhoni. A reporter and photographer darted over as she and Chris Staples walked into the funeral home. The press hounds were stopped at the door.

Joe and Andi rejoined their group. A few minutes later, a funeral home employee told them they could pay their respects. Joe took Melissa's hand.

Inside, they were directed to the main viewing room. It seated maybe 150 people. All the seats were taken. Grace Edgerton stood by the casket, praying, Staples behind her. After a few moments, she turned and walked over to a group of people Joe assumed to be the family. Maybe a dozen in all. Some old, some young, some very old, and a baby. Jesus, a baby. Don't let it be Bluehorse's. Joe didn't want to be responsible for leaving a child fatherless. Please.

“Are you okay, Dad?” Melissa asked.

He relaxed his grip on her hand. “Yeah. Fine.”

No, he definitely wasn't. He was about to say good-bye to a partner. When he'd come in, he'd made sure to look at everything but the coffin. Even now, he avoided it. He couldn't catch his breath. This was a bad idea.

She looked for an empty pew. “Let's sit down.”

Stretch found a folding chair and brought it over. Joe sat. His squad gathered around him. People stared, whispered.

“I'm fine,” he said in between deep breaths. “Go. Go and pay your respects. I need a moment. I'll be fine.” The others went up. Melissa and Stretch stayed with him.

Faces stared at him—some sad, some disinterested, a few angry. The family stared, too. Chief Cornfield was with them.

“How are you, Agent Evers?” a woman said.

It broke his trance.

Grace Edgerton looked down at him.

He told her he was fine. Fine was the flavor of the day.

Melissa introduced herself.

“I don't know what to say,” Edgerton said. “You and Officer Bluehorse were shot because of my husband's case. I'm humbled. I want you to know I'm sorry it happened. I'm so very sorry Officer Bluehorse lost his life. And I'm sorry you were shot. I never imagined anything like this would happen. And I don't understand how it happened. When you are feeling better, I would like to talk.”

He didn't trust himself to speak. He nodded. Then he looked at Andi. He wasn't up to talking about the handgun. Andi understood. She gestured with her hand that she would handle it.

Grace Edgerton said good-bye. Chris Staples looked as though he wanted to say something, but he must have sensed it was the wrong time. He left without speaking.

Joe sat there another minute. When he stood, his legs wanted to betray him, but he willed them to keep him upright. He took Melissa's hand and walked to the front of the viewing room, she on one side, Stretch on the other.

Bluehorse was flanked by two Navajo policemen in honor-guard uniforms, one at the head of the coffin and the other at the foot.

The coffin was closed, which was not uncommon among the more traditional Navajo families. The dead were dead. From what Joe had learned over the years, working with Navajo and other Native American officers, death was not something to be feared and should not be mourned, though who could not mourn the passing of a loved one? As was Navajo tradition, Bluehorse's family would have selected several men to prepare his body, and then others to dig a grave and carry his coffin. The Navajo have many traditions to protect the living from the dead. But it had been Joe's job to protect his partner from the living. He wished he had been smart enough and brave enough on that road in Jones Ranch to protect his friend. Instead, he had been too proud and too stupid and had led this young man to his death.