Hillerman, Tony - [Leaphorn & Chee 14] (20 page)

Bernie said, “Yes,” but she sounded doubtful.

There are more,” Leaphorn said. “Remember the Great 1998 Manhunt.
Three men involved. Police shot, stolen vehicle abandoned. Huge hunt
begins. The fellow believed to be the ringleader is found dead. The FBI
rules it suicide. The other two men vanish in the canyons.”

Now that his ankle was no longer painful, Chee was feeling drowsy.
He let his head slide over against the upholstery. Yawned. How long had
it been since he’d had a good sleep?

“Another coincidence,” Bernie agreed. “You have your doubts about
that one, too?”

“Jim suggested the first crime might have been the cause of the
second one,” Leaphorn said.

Chee was no longer sleepy. What did that mean? He couldn’t remember
saying that.

“Ah,” Bernie said. “That’s going to take some complicated thinking.
And that could go for the other ones, too. For example, seeing the
abandoned truck and hearing about the robbery on the radio, Mr Timms
saw a way to get rid of his airplane. He claimed it was stolen and
filed an insurance claim.”

“It would be cause and effect that way, too, of course,” Leaphorn
said. “Or perhaps the airplane was the reason the car was abandoned
where it was, as the FBI originally concluded.”

Chee sat up.
What the devil is
Leaphom driving at?

“I’m afraid I’m lost,” Bernie said.

“Let me give you a whole new theory of the crime,” Leaphom said.
“Let’s say it went like this. Someone up in this border country paid
close attention to the 1998 crime, and it suggested to him the way to
solve a problem. Actually two problems. It would supply him with some
needed cash, and it would eliminate an enemy. Let’s say this person has
connections with the militia, or the survivalists, or EarthFirsters, or
any of the radical groups. Let’s say he recruits two or three men to
help him, pretending they’re going after the money to finance their
political cause. He gets Mr Timms involved. Either he leases the
airplane in advance for a flight or he lets Timms in on the crime.
Offers him a slice of the loot.”

“You’re talking about Everett Jorie,” Bernie said.

“I could be, yes,” Leaphorn said. “But in my proposal, Jorie has the
role of the enemy to be eliminated.”

Chee cleared his throat. “Wait a minute, Lieutenant,” he said. “How
about the suicide note? All that?”

Leaphorn looked around at Chee, gave him a wry look. “I had the
advantage of being there. Seeing the man where he lived. Seeing what he
read. His library. The sort of stuff he treasured, that made up his
life. When I look back at it, it makes me think I’m showing my age. If
you or Officer Manuelito had been the ones to find the body, to see it
all, you would have gotten suspicious a long time before I did.”

Chee was thinking he still didn’t feel suspicious. But he said, “OK.
How did it work?”

Bernie had slowed. “Is that where you want me to turn? That dirt
road?”

“It’s rough, but it’s a lot shorter than driving down to 191 and
then having to cut back.”

“I’m in favor of short,” Bernie said, and they were bumping off the
pavement and onto the dirt.

“I’d guess this is the route the casino perps took,” Leaphorn said.
“They must have known this mesa, living out here, and they must have
known it led them into a dead-end situation." He laughed. “Another
argument for my unorthodox theory of the crime. Having them turn off
191 and get lost would be too much of a coincidence for my taste.”

“Lieutenant,” Chee said, "why don’t you go ahead and tell us what
happened at Jorie’s place.”

“What I think may have happened,” Leaphorn said. “Well, let’s say
that our villain knocks on Jorie’s door, points the fatal pistol at
Jorie, marches him into Jorie’s office, has Jorie sit in his computer
chair, then shoots him point-blank so it will pass as a suicide. Then
he turns on the computer, leans over the body, types out the suicide
note, leaves the computer on, and departs the scene.”

“Why?” Chee asked. “Actually about four or five whys. I think I can
see some of the motives, but some of it’s hazy.”

“Jorie was one of these fellows who thrive on litigation. And being
a lawyer and admitted to the Utah bar, he could file all the suits he
liked without it costing him much. He had two suits pending against our
man. He was even suing Timms. Claimed his little airplane panicked his
cattle, causing weight loss, loss of calves, so forth. Another suit
claimed Timms violated his grazing lease with that unauthorized landing
strip. But Timms isn’t my choice of villains. Another one of Jorie’s
suits was aimed at canceling our villain’s Bureau of Land Management
lease.”

“We’re talking about Mr Gershwin, of course,” Chee said. “Aren’t we?”

“In theory, yes,” Leaphorn said.

“All right,” Chee said. “What’s next?”

“Now he has eliminated one of his two problems - the enemy and his
troublesome lawsuits. But not the other one.”

“The money,” Bernie said. “You mean he’d only get a third of that?”

“In my theory, I think it’s a little more complicated,” Leaphorn
replied. He looked back at Chee. “You remember in that suicide note,
how he told the FBI where to find his two partners, how he stressed
that they had sworn never to be taken alive. If they were caught, they
wanted to go into history for the number of cops they had killed.”

“His plan to eliminate them,” Chee said, and produced a wry laugh.
“It probably would have worked. If those guys were militia members,
they’d have their heads full of
how the FBI behaved at Ruby Ridge and Waco. Frankly, if I was going in
with the SWAT team, I think I’d be blazing away.”

“There must have seemed to be a flaw in that plan, though. Our
villain had to wonder how the suicide note would be found. No one had
any reason to suspect Jorie. Not a clue to any of the identities. So
our villain solved that by finding himself a not-very-bright retired
cop who he could trust to tip off the FBI without getting him involved
in it.”

“I’ll be damned,” Chee said. “I wondered how you happened to be the
one who found Jorie’s body.”

“What was the rush?” Bernie asked. “Sooner or later Jorie would have
been missed. Somebody would have gone out to see about him. You know
how people out here are.”

“My theoretical villain didn’t think he could wait for that. He
didn’t want to risk the cops catching his partners before the cops knew
about their plan to go down killing cops. Captured alive, they’d know
just exactly who’d turned them in. They’d even the score and get off
easier by testifying against him.”

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “That makes sense.”

Chee was leaning forward now. He tapped Leaphorn’s shoulder. “Look.
Lieutenant, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Like I thought you
weren’t very bright.”

“Matter of fact I wasn’t. He got almost exactly what he wanted out
of me.”

Which was true, but Chee let that hang.

“The only thing that went wrong was his partners must have smelled
something in the wind. They didn’t go home like they were supposed
to—safe in the notion that the police hadn’t a clue to who they were.
They didn’t wait for the SWAT teams to arrive and mow them down. They
slipped away and hid somewhere.”

“The old Mormon mine,” Chee said. “So why didn’t the FBI find them
there?”

“I don’t know,” Leaphorn said. “Maybe they were somewhere else when
the federal agent took a look. Maybe they went home, as our villain
probably told them to do, and then got uneasy and came back to
Ironhand’s dad’s hideaway, to wait and see what happened. Or maybe the
federals didn’t look hard enough. They’d have had no way of knowing
about the entrance down in the canyon.”

“That’s true,” Chee said. “You couldn’t see it from the bottom. And,
of course, we don’t know if the bottom mine connects to the top.”

Bernie laughed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I like to believe in
legends. Even if they’re Ute legends.”

“I’ve just been along for the ride,” Chee said. “Just giving my
ankle an airing. Now I’m wondering what the plan is. I hope it’s not
that we walk up to that mine and order Baker and Ironhand to come out
with their hands up.”

“No,” Leaphorn said, and laughed.

“Bernie would have to handle that all by herself.”

Chee said. “You’re a civilian. I’m on sick leave or something. Let’s
say I’m back on vacation.”

“But you did bring your pistol, I’ll bet,” Bernie said. “You did,
didn’t you.?”

“I think I’ve got it here somewhere. You know the rules. Don’t leave
home without it.”

“What I’d like to do is drop in on Mr Timms,” Leaphorn said. “I
think we can get him to cooperate. And if he does, and if I’m guessing
right, then Officer Manuelito gets on her radio and summons
reinforcements.”

“Why couldn’t we call in for a backup and then -" Chee cut off the
rest of that. He imagined Leaphorn explaining his theory to Special
Agent Cabot - asking backup to check a mine the FBI had already
certified free of fugitives. He imagined Cabot’s smirk. He switched to
another question.

“Do you know Mr Timms?” he asked. Another stupid question. Of course
he did. Leaphorn knew everyone in the Four Corners. At least everyone
over sixty.

“Not well,” Leaphorn said. “Haven’t seen him for years. But I think
we can get him to cooperate.”

Chee leaned back against the door and watched the desert landscape
slide past. He imagined Timms telling them to go to hell. He imagined
Timms ordering them off his property.

But then he relaxed. Retired or not, Leaphorn was still the
Legendary Lieutenant.

Bernie let Unit 11 roll to a stop just in front of the Timms front
porch, and they sat for the few moments required by empty-country
courtesy to give the occupant time to get himself decent and prepare to
acknowledge visitors. The door opened. A tall, skinny, slightly stooped
man stood in the doorway looking out at them.

Leaphorn got out, Bernie followed, and Chee moved his ankle off the
pillow and onto the floor. It hurt, but not much.

“Hello, Mr Timms,” Leaphorn said. “I wonder if you remember me.”

Timms stepped out onto the porch, the sunlight reflecting from his
spectacles. “Maybe I do,” he said. “Didn’t you used to be Corporal Joe
Leaphorn with the Navajo Police? Wasn’t you the one who helped out when
that fellow was shooting at my airplane?”

“Yes sir,” Leaphorn said. “That was me. And this young lady is
Officer Bernadette Manuelito.”

“Well, come on in out of the sun,” Timms said.

Chee couldn’t stand the thought of missing this. He pushed the car
door open with his good foot, got his cane and limped across the yard,
eyes on the ground to avoid an accident, noticing that the bedroom
slipper he was wearing on his left foot was collecting sandburrs. “And
this,” Leaphorn was saying, “is Sergeant Jim Chee. He and I worked
together.”

“Yes sir,” Timms said, and held out his hand. The shake was Navajo
fashion, less grip and more the gentle touch. An old-timer who knew the
culture. And so nervous that the muscles in his cheek were twitching.

“Wasn’t expecting company, so I don’t have anything fixed, but I
could offer you something cold to drink,” Timms said, ushering them
into a small, dark room cluttered with the sort of old mismatched
furniture one collects from Goodwill Industries shops.

“I don’t think we should accept your hospitality, Mr Timms,”
Leaphorn said. “We came here on some serious business.”

“On that insurance claim,” Timms said. “I already sent off a letter
canceling that. Already did that.”

“I’m afraid it’s a lot more serious than that,” Leaphorn said.

“That’s the trouble with getting old. You get so damned forgetful,”
Timms said, talking fast. “I get up to get me a drink of water and by
the time I get to the icebox I forget what I’m in the kitchen for. I
flew that old L-19 down there to do some work, and then a fella offered
me a ride home and I went off and left it and then we were hearing
about the robbery on the radio and when I got home and saw the barn
open and my airplane gone I just thought -"

Timms stopped. He stared at Leaphorn. So did Bernie. So did Chee.

“More than that?” Timms asked.

Leaphorn stood silent, eyes on Timms.

“What more?” Timms asked. He slumped down into an overstuffed
armchair, looking up at Leaphorn.

“You remember that fellow who was doing the shooting when you flew
over his place? Everett Jorie.”

“He quit doing that after you talked to him." Timms tried a smile,
which didn’t come off. “I appreciated that. Now he’s turned into a
bandit. Robbed that casino. Killed himself.”

“It looked like that for a while,” Leaphorn said.

Timms shrank into the chair. Raised his right hand to his forehead.
He said, “You saying somebody killed him?”

Leaphorn let the question hang for a moment. Said: "How well do you
know Roy Gershwin?”

Timms opened his mouth, closed it, and looked up at Leaphorn. Chee
found himself feeling sorry for the man. He looked terrified.

“Mr Timms,” Leaphorn said, "you are in a position right now to help
yourself a lot. The FBI isn’t happy with you. Hiding that airplane,
reporting it stolen, that slowed down the hunt for those killers a lot.
It’s not the sort of thing law enforcement forgets. Unless it has a
reason to want to overlook it. If you’re helpful, then the police tend
to say 'Well, Mr Timms was just forgetful.' If you’re not helpful, then
things like that tend to go to the grand jury to let the jury decide
whether you were what they call an accessory after the fact. And that’s
not insurance fraud. That’s in a murder case.”

“Murder case. You mean Jorie?”

“Mr Timms,” Leaphorn said, "tell me about Roy Gershwin.”

“He was by here today,” Timms said. “You just missed him.”

Now it was Leaphorn’s turn to look startled. And Chee’s.