Spider Woman's Daughter Page 4

  She heard the siren of another police car. An Apache County sheriff’s vehicle pulled into the lot, drove past them and up to the front door of the grocery store. Two deputies raced from the car to the back of the building.

  She turned to Wheeler, feeling the wind beat against her face. “You can help Chee like he asked. Tell him the car is registered to Mrs. Gloria Benally and we have her here. Nothing on her record.”

  “You both get away from my car.” Mrs. Benally raised her voice. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

  Bernie said, “Officer Wheeler and I are so sorry to inconvenience you, but we need your help on this case. The experts will have to look at your car for evidence that could tell us who shot the policeman. That’s why the tow truck is coming.”

  “Tow truck?”

  “The one who was shot was a retired officer, a brave man who worked for the Navajo people. The bullet went into his head. The person who shot him drove away in a blue sedan that looked like yours.” Bernie paused. “Exactly like this car. Exactly. Right down to the little dent on the fender and the red bumper sticker. I know this is true because I was there when that terrible thing happened. We need your help to find the person who did this before someone else gets hurt.”

  Mrs. Benally waited to make sure Bernie was done.

  “I’m sorry about that man who got shot,” she said. “But my car is innocent. I need my car to take home my groceries. What about my Fudgsicles?”

  Bernie stared at Wheeler. “This officer will buy you some more when we’re all done.”

  Wheeler looked puzzled. “I’m going to help Chee.” He trotted off.

  Mrs. Benally smiled for the first time.

  Bernie spoke to her in Navajo. “I can tell you are a smart woman and a good observer. We have a mystery here. Is it all right if I ask you a few questions?”

  Mrs. Benally, as the story revealed itself, hadn’t parked the car at Bashas’. She explained that a friend had dropped her off. She told Bernie the story of how she met the friend at Window Rock Elementary when their sons were both in first grade there. Bernie listened, knowing that Mrs. Benally would eventually talk about the car.

  “My son was sad when that boy went off to live with his uncle in Flagstaff,” Mrs. Benally said. “My son, he’s the one who drives the car here for me.”

  The wind gusted again, blowing dust in Bernie’s eyes and grit in her teeth. It made the day seem hotter. Mrs. Benally had drifted into talking about her friend’s son, who was working at the Museum of Northern Arizona and going to school at Northern Arizona University.

  Bernie interrupted her. “Forgive me for not being a better listener, but I have to find out about the car so we can begin to learn who shot the policeman.”

  Mrs. Benally nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Ask questions.”

  Some Navajos thought it rude to speak a person’s name, but Mrs. Benally hadn’t mentioned it, so Bernie had to ask.

  “My son is called Jackson Benally.”

  “Did your son drive the car today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why is the car here?” Bernie asked.

  Mrs. Benally scowled. “He leaves it for me. He goes to study in Gallup with another boy who has a car. One of those littler ones that don’t use much gas.”

  Mrs. Benally wasn’t sure when Jackson met his friend, only that he left the house about eight, and when she got to Bashas’ she found her car parked where he always left it. Bernie asked, “What does your son look like?”

  “They say he’s handsome.”

  “How tall is he?”

  Mrs. Benally reached her hand a few inches above her own head. Maybe five-eight, Bernie guessed. The shooter hadn’t seemed that tall.

  “Is he muscular? Fat? Thin?”

  “Just right.” Mrs. Benally smiled. “Look here. I have a photo on my phone.” She reached into her red purse and pulled out a cell from the inside pocket. Pushed a button and flashed the phone toward Bernie. A slim, serious-looking young man wearing a button-down shirt. Short-cropped, thick dark hair. Jackson looked about the same age as Bernie’s sister.

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s nineteen. Jackson asked if he could put that sticker on there,” Mrs. Benally volunteered. “ ‘Go Lobos.’ He’s my first to go to college.”

  “Teenagers,” Bernie said. “Sometimes some of them can make their parents worry.”

  “I worried about him last year. You know. Gangs. We never had that when I was growing up.”

  “Was he in a gang?”

  Mrs. Benally shook her head. “Not my Jackson.” But Bernie knew children kept secrets, and so did parents.

  “Do you know the name of the friend Jackson drives with?”

  “He calls him Lizard.”

  “Lizard?”

  “Lizard.”

  “Does Lizard have another name?”

  Mrs. Benally thought about it. “Leonard. Leonard Nez.”

  The wind pushed Mrs. Benally’s plaid blouse tight against her ample chest. The sun beat down, cooking the asphalt. Bernie pictured the Fudgsicles melting into chocolate puddles.

  “Why don’t you and I sit in the car?” Bernie said. “Get some shade.”

  Mrs. Benally looked at the patrol unit suspiciously.

  “It will be more comfortable than getting sand-blasted,” Bernie said. “We can put your groceries in there, too.”

  Mrs. Benally said, “Okay, if you roll down the windows.”

  Bernie did better than that. She activated the air-conditioning.

  She hadn’t been able to stop the shooter or return fire, but with the sedan found so quickly, Bernie thought, the puzzle of Leaphorn’s attack would be solved and the person who hurt him arrested. The idea that she’d helped made her feel a little lighter.

  After Mrs. Benally had settled in, Bernie radioed Largo about Jackson and Leonard Nez.

  “Manuelito,” Largo said. “You are off the case. Remember?”

  “Chee assigned me to wait with the shooter’s car until the tow truck got here. Mrs. Benally and I were just talking, and I knew this was important.” Bernie watched an Arizona State Police SUV pull up next to Wheeler’s unit and then two groups of Apache County deputies arrive in pickups with horse trailers.

  She updated Largo while the state cops parked at the McDonald’s that adjoined the Bashas’ lot. The vehicles outside the restaurant included rez cars and a tourist’s rental RV with advertising on the side. She heard deputies unloading the horses. If the suspect had taken off on foot through open country, he’d better have a good hiding place, or they’d find him.

  Largo said, “Good work. But remember—”

  “I know. This isn’t my case. When we’re done, I’m taking the day off,” she said. “Going to see my mother.”

  In Bashas’, Chee learned that none of the twelve adult grocery store customers, six children, three clerks, and four stockers had seen anything or anyone unusual that morning. At least, not until Officer Wheeler arrived in the parking lot. The search found no one hiding. He left his card with the manager in case anyone recalled something relevant, and allowed the store to reopen, to the relief of the staff and a dozen potential customers baking outside.

  At the front door, Chee stopped at an industrial-size trash can.

  “Hold the base while I get the top off,” he told Wheeler.

  Chee pulled gloves from his back pocket, put them on, and hoisted the lid. He looked inside. No gun, at least not on top. But he extracted a black hoodie.

  “I’m going to bag this.” He looked at Wheeler. “I want you to take the rest of this trash, just in case.”

  By the time Chee and Wheeler got back to the suspect blue sedan, the tow truck operator had attached the hooks and begun rolling the car up on the big flatbed. Mrs. Benally stood next to the driver. />
  “Be careful,” she said. Several times.

  Chee asked Wheeler to update the captain.

  “Largo says no record on Gloria Benally. Nothing on Jackson Benally. He asked the gang unit to see if the shooting might be some sort of initiation ritual or something,” Wheeler said.

  “What description is on Jackson’s license?” Bernie asked.

  Wheeler gave her the details. “Black hair, dark brown eyes. Five foot eight, one-forty.”

  “What about the other kid, Nez?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  Mrs. Benally watched her car disappear down the highway, then walked over to them. Bernie introduced Chee, explaining that he was in charge of the Navajo side of the investigation.

  “We need to get your fingerprints,” he told her. “That way, we can make sure when the car is examined, they can sort them out from the bad person’s.”

  Mrs. Benally made a noise, something between a laugh and a snort. “Will you take my picture, too, with a number underneath?”

  Chee said, “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

  Bernie said, “Remember that we need your help to solve the crime. You are important to us.”

  Mrs. Benally sighed. “Let’s hurry up with all this. I want to get home.”

  While a technician took Mrs. Benally’s prints, Chee met with Captain Largo. Bernie came along.

  “There’s something odd about that car sitting there,” Largo said. “That guy should have been on the way to wherever—not parked outside Bashas’. The New Mexico State Police are looking for Jackson at UNM Gallup, where Mrs. Benally said he should be.”

  Largo turned to Bernie. “Gallup, right? Not the main campus?”

  “Right,” Bernie said. “From what Mrs. Benally told me, I don’t think Jackson did it. He enrolled at UNM on a Native Scholarship. Good grades, good recommendations. That doesn’t fit the mold for a guy in a gang.”

  “What mother doesn’t think her son is a little angel?” He looked at her again. “Did you find Louisa? Did you ask about the lieutenant’s relatives?”

  Bernie paused. “No. No Louisa yet. I could use some help finding her cell number. I left her a note and a voice mail on her home phone to call me.”

  Largo nodded.

  Chee said, “If Benally isn’t a gangbanger, what motive would he have for the shooting? Seems to me whoever did it must have had an accomplice with a second car. Or he’s hiding somewhere he could get to fast on foot.”

  Largo stood, walked to the window. Bernie noticed that the blowing dust had bruised the blue sky into a pale gray.

  “If it’s not a gang deal and not these guys, then we have more work.” Largo motioned toward a computer disc in his in-box. “Motive? These are Leaphorn’s last cases as a full-time detective with us, the ones he handled after the department was computerized. And a few on there are from after he retired, where we used him as a consultant. Some of these guys might have a motive.”

  Bernie knew what the “some” meant. Revenge was a bilagaana value, but some of these criminals had torn themselves away from the fabric of Diné life, lost their direction. Anger consumed them.

  Largo moved back to his deck, ran his fingers over the case that held the disc. “I need someone to go through these in case Benally isn’t our boy.”

  Bernie started to say something, and Largo silenced her with a look. He turned to Chee. “That someone will be you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chee said.

  “You know what to look for. First of all, a link between Jackson, or a friend or family member of Jackson, someone in the Benallys’ circle, and Leaphorn. A reason for a college boy to want Leaphorn dead. Or someone who might have threatened, coerced, blackmailed Benally into this situation. Then, look for cons Leaphorn helped send to prison who might be out now.”

  “Want me to work from Window Rock?”

  “No. Take this back to the Shiprock office. Less hectic there.” Largo sighed. “It ought to take a long day to come up with a list, but let me know sooner if any names jump out at you. Maybe we won’t even need the list of cons. Maybe Jackson is our man.”

  “Anything else?” Chee asked. “What about the lieutenant’s condition?”

  “I haven’t heard anything new,” Largo said.

  Chee took the disc, rose to leave. Bernie stood, too.

  “When I picked up Bernie at Leaphorn’s house, we realized he has a home office there. More files. We’ll need those, too.”

  Largo nodded. “Have Bigman get them.”

  “I don’t think Jackson did it,” Bernie said.

  “Really?” Largo’s voice was sharp with ridicule. “The mother, she’s about the right size, owns the car? Do you like her for the shooter?”

  “She’s got an alibi. Shopping.” Bernie worked to keep the edge out of her voice.

  “You know you’ll have to testify when this all goes to trial.” Largo frowned. “You need to be a credible, untainted witness, Manuelito. We don’t want anybody saying Navajo Police screwed this up by not following the rules. We don’t want whoever hurt the lieutenant to get off on some sort of oversight or a damn technicality. You may have already done some damage, talking with Mrs. Benally. You should have left every bit of that to Chee and Wheeler.”

  Bernie felt her face grow hot, anger rising. “What was I supposed to do, sit on my thumbs?”

  “Exactly. And keep your mouth shut.”

  Largo pressed his hands together, looked grim. “The way I see it, this is the most important case we’ve ever handled. Your not being involved is routine procedure. Routine. It’s not personal. It’s not punishment. It’s the way we do things. I am not saying this again. Clear?”

  Bernie said, “This case is personal. I saw him fall. I promised I’d find whoever shot him.”

  Largo stood and leaned toward her. “Get out of here, Manuelito. Cool down. Your only, I repeat only, job is to find Louisa and Leaphorn’s kinfolks. Period. I don’t want to see you here again. Or talk to you until I invite you back to work.”

  Bernie rose, standing next to Chee.

  “I don’t want to have to fire you,” Largo said. “But I will if you can’t follow orders.”

  4

  Bernie walked to the parking lot in silence, heading to her car. Chee followed.

  “You’ve been through a lot today,” he said. “It wouldn’t hurt you to—”

  “Don’t start. I don’t need you or Largo to protect me. Largo thinks I should have done more for the lieutenant. No matter what he says, he is punishing me by taking me off the case.”

  She felt Chee’s hands on her shoulders, shrugged him away.

  “You’re wrong,” Chee said. “Largo doesn’t operate like that and never has. He’s been tough on me, too. Tough but fair. Stop beating yourself up. It’s totally routine for an officer involved in a shooting to—”

  “I didn’t act like an officer out there. If I’d been faster, I could have gotten a real description, maybe even gotten off a shot.”

  “Stop, honey. It’s over.”

  She noticed his look of concern and surprise. She rarely showed her anger. And she couldn’t remember ever being this furious.

  “We’re all in this together,” Chee said. “We all want to solve this case. Cut yourself some slack. You’re a great officer. You did your best.”

  A wave of grief swept away her anger, grief not only for the lieutenant but for her own expectations of Officer Bernadette Manuelito, now proven to be an incompetent fraud.

  She turned away from him, climbed into her car.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see Mama and Darleen,” Bernie said. “That’s what I always do on my day off.”

  “Good,” he said. “Don’t forget to get something to eat. I’ll call you later.”

  Bernie put her key in th
e ignition, rolled down the windows. Pulled out of the police parking lot. Tried the radio and turned it off again. Took a sip from her water bottle. Warm, of course. The problem with the Toyota’s air-conditioning, an expensive problem, couldn’t be tackled until she got the older bills paid off. By then it would be at least October. Cool again. Problem solved.

  As she headed toward Fort Defiance, she realized she should swing back by Leaphorn’s house. See if Louisa was there now, tell her what happened, get that job out of the way. Bernie made the detour, feeling the hot wind in her hair, thinking about the lieutenant. How few family photos he had in his house. No nieces or nephews, brothers or sisters. Leaphorn, she thought, never spoke of family except for Emma.

  Her own family was different. She had been wrapped in love by her grandmother, her mother, mother’s sisters, and maternal uncles. Her father’s family, too, had taken an interest in her. Her grandfather on that side had been a Code Talker, and there were plenty of marines in the mix, a modern incarnation of the warrior spirit. When she had decided to become a police officer, they understood and wished her well.

  She felt her cell phone vibrate, flipped it on.

  “We just got word that Leaphorn made it into Albuquerque.”

  She heard something in Chee’s voice that made her ask, “What else?”

  Silence. Then Chee said, “The neurology unit there is full. They may have to transfer him again, I’ll let you know.”

  “Bring the files home, and I’ll help you go through them.”

  “Thanks, honey. I’ll fix dinner.”

  She pulled in front of Leaphorn’s house and parked on the street in a patch of shade provided by a straggly Siberian elm. Officer Bigman’s department-issued pickup occupied the driveway, the only other vehicle in sight except for Leaphorn’s truck. Where was Louisa?

  She walked inside through the kitchen, calling to Bigman.

  “In here,” he yelled. “In the office.” The detective sat at Leaphorn’s desk, wearing latex gloves. The lights on Leaphorn’s computer blinked like Christmas. He pressed a cell phone to his ear.

  “No, that didn’t work either,” he said. “What if I just bring the hard drive down there?”