Dark Reservations (35 page)

Joe wiped at his eyes.

Off to the side of the coffin, a small table displayed several large framed photographs of Bluehorse. One drew Joe's attention: Bluehorse in his Navajo policeman's uniform. A new uniform. Neat, pressed, sharp creases. Just like at their first meeting. Bluehorse standing by his cruiser, gleaming in the New Mexican sun. A spit-shined rookie. Joe smiled. His chest hitched. He knelt by the coffin and prayed. Knelt because he didn't trust his cowardly legs.

Our father, who art in heaven … The words came easily enough, even though he hadn't said the prayer since Christine's death. When he finished, he whispered, “I'm sure we'll meet again, buddy.” Then he forced a smile. A smile only Bluehorse could see, for it was meant only for him.

After a bit, he stood and made his way over to the family. In his pocket was his Saint Michael's medal, Christine's gift. He'd brought it to ask the family if they would place it in the coffin with Bluehorse.

A funeral employee, possibly the director, made introductions. “This is the mother and father of Officer Bluehorse.” His voice was soft, as though he wanted to be sure not to wake the dead.

His mother looked sad, his father impassive.

“I'm so … I'm so sorry. He was my friend. And a fine … a fine officer.”

The mother began to cry. The father said nothing, did nothing.

“Were you drunk?” a man asked. He stood amongst the family members. In his twenties, dressed in a shirt, tie, black jeans, he resembled Bluehorse. “Were you drunk?” he repeated.

The mother said something sharp in Navajo to the man.

“No. I need to know,” the man said. “Were you drunk when my brother was killed? The papers say you're a drunk cop who should have been thrown out years ago. So I'm asking. Were you drunk?”

“My father—” Melissa began.

Joe squeezed her hand. “No, I wasn't drunk.”

Stretch put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Let's go.”

Cornfield stepped up to Joe. “Yes, I think you'd better leave.” His face set. “And the truth will come out eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Joe asked, confused but not angry.

“Your antics. They caused the deaths of two people. Officer Bluehorse and William Tom.”

Joe looked around. A dozen sets of eyes stared back at him. Pushed at him. Wished him gone. Cornfield had fed these people his own hate. Joe felt that hate now. Not from all of them, but from enough to know he should leave. He understood their need to blame someone, anyone. Losing a loved one, especially one so young, made no sense. To blame someone was to bring order to chaos. Bringing anger into focus blurred the grief. Joe had been there. He understood.

“I'm sorry,” Joe said, looking only at the parents. He let Stretch and Melissa lead him away.

They were almost to the door, almost out of the funeral home, away from the family and their rightful anger, when a voice called after him.

“
T'ah.
” A soft voice. “
T'ah.
” An old voice. Strong, yet frail.

He stopped.

An old woman hobbled toward him. He expected a stern look, an angry word, perhaps. He'd readied himself. Part of him wanted to be blamed. To be labeled. To be punished for not preventing what had happened. This was good. The old woman would give him what he needed most: penance.

He braced himself. She would slap him. He was sure.

As she drew close, the old woman gave a gentle smile, causing the lines on her cheeks to curve and deepen.

He felt the sting of that smile. Worse than a slap.

She held something wrapped in a small Pendleton blanket. Her English was not good. “My grandson want this for you.”

She unwrapped the blanket. Cradled at its center was a carved wooden kachina: a ceremonial dancer with a feathered head, winged arms like an eagle, a multicolored body. It held a tiny chanting rattle in one hand.

She held it out to him. “He say he see in you a heavy weight. This help you.”

“I don't think I can take it.”

“You take.” She pushed it at him. “You must take.”

He lifted the carving from the blanket. It was heavy. Oak. Bluehorse had told him his grandfather carved special kachinas from oak because it was strong and could bear great burdens.

He reached in his pocket and removed the Saint Michael's medal. Then he handed it to the old woman. She let him place it on her open palm. “It was an honor to know your grandson and to work with him,” Joe said, the words difficult to get out. “And I wish I could have worked with him longer.” His chest tightened. “On … on the day he was killed, he was working with me, helping me. He didn't want me to go alone to a meeting with someone I didn't know. He was trying to keep me safe.” He took a deep breath. “I should have been more aware. I should have known it was a setup. But I didn't, and it cost your grandson his life.” His eyes welled. “And I can't change that. I can't bring him back. And I'm sorry.” A tear spilled. He felt it roll down his cheek. “I am so, so sorry.”

The old woman began to cry.

He lowered his head, too ashamed to witness her grief.

O
CTOBER
14

T
HURSDAY
, 5:10
P.M.

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OE
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EXICO

Melissa stood at the end of the couch, arms folded. “Look at you. You're in pain. You need to rest. Whatever is happening tomorrow, they can do it without you.”

They hadn't gone to the cemetery. He hadn't wanted to upset the family further, so they'd come back home and he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Now his body was stiff. He'd asked for his pain medication and mentioned he was going into work the next day, just for a few hours.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Her arms dropped to her sides. “I know you miss Mom, but burying yourself in work isn't the answer.”

“I've barely put in a full day since that damn trial last year. Too much work is not my problem. Finding out who shot Bluehorse—that's my problem. And that's what I'm doing tomorrow.”

She started to cry. “You were shot, Dad. I'm worried about you. I'm worried because you're all alone, and I'm worried because you might get hurt again, or worse.”

“Honey, I know you're worried, but I promise nothing is going to happen to me tomorrow. The whole squad will be there.”

Melissa sat down. He put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he said. “And as for being alone, your old man still has a little game.”

She pulled away. “I forgot. When do I meet her?”

“Actually, she dumped me. She got back together with her ex. I think he was a rock star or an astronaut or something.”

“Her loss.”

O
CTOBER
15

F
RIDAY
, 8:57
A.M.

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THMANN
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“Got it,” Andi said.

“Which one?” Joe asked.

They walked through the house, looking for Dale.

“The Ram. Left rear tire. It has a unique striation in the tread. A perfect match to the impression. Did you get the mask?”

“He says he threw it out. Says after Trudle called attention to it, he looked at it again and realized it was a fake.”

“Does that make any sense?” Andi asked.

“No one's buying it. We're tearing the place apart, looking for hidden safes or rooms. He called his attorney.”

“And Eddie Begay? Any indication he was staying here?”

“Nothing.”

They passed the great room, where Sadi and Stretch were moving a couch, and headed into the study. Dale was there, as was Othmann. Cordelli and Tenny were lifting a picture off the wall: the portrait of Othmann's father.

“Be careful with that,” Othmann said. “The frame alone cost more than both of you make in a year.” He sat behind his desk, smiling. The son of a bitch was amused.

“I think you got robbed,” Cordelli said. “Maybe we should be investigating that.”

Tenny snickered.

“Like I said, more than both of you make in a year.” Othmann turned to Books, who stood off to the right side of the desk. “Keep an eye on these baboons. Make sure they don't break anything.”

Books did not reply, nor did he shift his gaze from Joe. The big man had been watching him since he'd entered the room.

Joe motioned for Dale to follow him and Andi into the hall.

“You pulling security?” Joe said to Dale in a low voice.

“I don't trust that Books character,” Dale said. “Looks like he might snap any minute.”

“Did you find anything?”

Dale shook his head. “We're almost done in here. All we have left is the kitchen and the bedrooms. And the two outbuildings.” He said to Andi, “Did you check the garage yet?”

She smiled. “Don't need to.”

“You got a match?”

“The Ram out front. Rear tire.”

They all looked toward Othmann. He must have sensed something because the look of amusement left his face.

“Between that and the phone call, we have enough to get a search warrant for the shooting,” Andi said. “I'll have my whole team out here in an hour. We'll be looking for the rifle and bike. Dale, get me a list of anything else you think we should include in the warrant. We'll also ask authority to obtain DNA samples and examine these assholes for injuries.” She said to Joe, “You know you can't be here for our search, right?”

“Yeah.”

Dale, Cordelli, and Tenny left to work on the bedrooms. Andi went to follow up on her warrant. Joe stayed back to keep an eye on Othmann and Books. He sized up the big man, a soulless knight at the side of an evil king, or maybe a spoiled prince. The man who had attacked Joe and Bluehorse had been thickset, although it had been difficult to judge his size from a distance. No one would dispute Books was thickset.

“You know you're making a mistake, Joe,” Othmann said. “I could be a much better friend than an enemy.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means you should think twice about what you're doing here. A Yei mask? Pathetic.”

Joe said nothing.

“How's your arm?” Othmann asked.

Joe felt his neck muscles tighten.

“You're retiring in a few months, and I hear you haven't found a job yet.”

“How do you know that?”

“Joe, I told you before. I know a lot of things. Like I know you have a daughter at Columbia University. Tuition must be hell.”

Joe took a step toward Othmann's desk. Books also took a step forward.

“Shut your mouth, Othmann, before you say something you'll regret.”

“Why do you insist on making me your enemy? All I want to do is help.”

“Like you did last week?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

Joe balled his hands into fists. He so wanted to put a hurtin' on this smug bastard. And his Neanderthal.

Othmann glanced at the door. Joe guessed one of his squad mates had returned.

Othmann put on a wide smile. “Why aren't you home with your daughter, Joe? She traveled all this way to see you. To see her daddy.”

Joe advanced on Othmann. Books stepped in front of the desk, moving to intercept him. Joe reached for his gun.

“What is going on in here?” a voice boomed. “Are you threatening my client?”

Joe turned. Behind Dale stood a silver-haired gentleman in a tailored suit, carrying a leather attaché case.

“I asked you a question, Agent?” the well-dressed man said. He turned to Dale. “You're his supervisor, are you not?”

Dale nodded. “I don't see a problem here. Everyone's a little hot, that's all. Let's—”

“I want to file a complaint,” the man said. “And I want him out of this room right now.”

“Your client threatened my daughter.”

The man strode into the room to stand beside Othmann's desk.

“I didn't hear a threat. I heard him ask about your daughter's visit.”

Joe took a deep breath. “That's not what he meant.”

“I don't care what you think he meant. I know what he said, as does everyone else who was present. You need to leave. Now.”

Joe looked to Dale, who nodded toward the door.

Joe marched out of the room, fingers clenching and unclenching. He followed the hall to the great room. The room lived up to the name. Twenty-foot ceilings, skylights, and a massive stone fireplace. He needed to be alone. But he wasn't. Stretch and Sadi were still searching, removing books from shelves along the wall.

He blew out a long breath. How did that bastard know about Melissa? How? Joe knew, but he didn't want to visit the idea. No. He tried to push it out of his mind. He didn't want to believe it. Couldn't believe it.

“What's up?” Stretch asked.

“That son of bitch threatened Melissa.”

A book thudded to the tiled floor.

“What did he say?” Sadi asked.

“Damn it, Joe.” Dale's voice came sharp and insistent. “What the hell happened in there?”

“He knew Melissa attended Columbia and that she'd come home to visit me.”

“He's an asshole, yeah,” Dale said. “But why did you react? You played right into his hands. And with his lawyer standing right there.”