Somewhere in the middle of that thought Leaphorn went to sleep.
After so many hours with so much nervous tension and so little rest he should have slept deeply. And he did for a while, as the light of the setting autumn sun reflected through Dorsey’s dusty curtain and then faded into twilight. But as the room darkened, Leaphorn’s subconscious returned to Davis, and to his ruined reputation, and to the big man standing at the door of room 127, pounding on it. Finally, no longer quite asleep, Leaphorn was remembering Davis accepting his card, and the expression on that honest face when Davis realized that Leaphorn, despite his civilian clothing, was still a policeman.
“Damn,” Leaphorn said. He reached for the telephone, dialed Streib’s office number. He got no answer. He glanced at his watch. It was almost seven. He dialed Streib’s home.
On the second ring a voice said, “Streib.”
“This is Leaphorn,” Leaphorn said. “If your people haven’t picked up Applebee yet, I’d tell them to rush it. Asher Davis was looking for him at the Navajo Nation Inn and I’ve got a feeling Davis was sore enough to kill the son-of-a-bitch.”
A long silence. “You might be right,” Streib said. “Do you know why?”
The tone of the question surprised Leaphorn. “Well, I think he finally figured out just how totally Applebee had betrayed him.” He hesitated. “When I saw him at Applebee’s door there at the inn, he was sore as hell, but I sort of sensed something else. That it might be hurt as much as anger. You know, your oldest friend and finally you realize—”
“You’re good at this psychology stuff, Joe. But you need to work on the timing.”
“Meaning what?” But even then he sensed what Streib meant. Davis had found his friend.
“Meaning I called the Inn and Applebee had checked back in there but wasn’t in his room. So I drove over to Window Rock and parked there to wait for him, and he drove up in that ritzy English Land Rover of his and got out, and Asher Davis was parked down a ways and he walked up and shot Applebee.”
“Just walked up and shot him? Killed him?”
“Three times in the chest with a forty-five. That’ll do it.”
“Just shot him? Didn’t say anything?”
Streib laughed. “Well, yes. I was walking up from the other side and Applebee saw Davis coming and he must have seen the gun and he said something and Davis yelled at him. Said, ‘Roger, don’t say a goddam word.’ Then
bang, bang, bang.”
Leaphorn had nothing to say.
Streib said, “I told him to drop the gun and he turned it around and handed me the butt and he put his hands behind his back to get handcuffed. And then I remembered you reminding me about reading him his rights, and I got that out of the way, and—”
“Applebee was dead?”
“Davis asked me that, too. I said, yeah, he’s dead, and he said, ‘Of course. Roger always left me to deal with the problem.’ You know what he meant by that?”
“I guess so,” Leaphorn said. But he didn’t want to explain it now. He wanted to get out of Dorsey’s haunted room, out into the air. It was time to go home.
He rose and pulled back the curtain for another look at the weather. Almost full dark now. Cloudy. Snow by morning, he guessed. What did he have to eat at home? He was out of milk, he remembered. Eggs but no bacon. Maybe a can of chili left, and about a half-loaf of bread, sort of stale. He stretched, grimaced at the painful stiffness in his back. He really didn’t want to go home. The house would be cold. The bed would be cold. His footsteps would echo. Where was Louisa now?
He turned out the light, locked behind him the door that was no longer Dorsey’s door, and started down the walk. Louisa would be leaving Honolulu by now, he thought. In the air. He imagined himself in the seat beside her. He imagined himself holding her hand. He imagined listening to her telling him what to expect in China. He imagined—
In the darkness, a woman was walking across the gravel toward him. Louisa.
“Joe Leaphorn,” she said. “You are one hell of a hard man to locate.”
Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn was speechless.
“You leave me a message on the answering machine. But then you’re not at your office, and you’re not at home. You don’t seem to be anyplace at all. But Virginia, bless her, Virginia finally—”
“What are you doing here?” Leaphorn asked. “Why aren’t you on that airplane?”
“I can always go to China,” Louisa said. “You said you were suspended. I thought you would need somebody.”
“I do.” Leaphorn realized that his voice was shaky. But it didn’t matter. “I need you.”
HarperCollins e-Book Exclusive Extras
Leaphorn, Chee,
and the Navajo Way
I
thought you might like to know the roots of my two favorite characters — Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn (now retired) and Sgt. Jim Chee, both of the Navajo Tribal Police.
Leaphorn emerged from a young Hutchinson County, Texas, sheriff who I met and came to admire in 1948 when I was a very green “crime and violence” reporter for a paper in the high plains of the Panhandle. He was smart, he was honest, he was wise and humane in his use of police powers — my idealistic young idea of what every cop should be but sometimes isn’t.
When I needed such a cop for what I intended to be a very minor character in
The Blessing Way
(1970), this sheriff came to mind. I added on Navajo cultural and religious characteristics, and he became Leaphorn in fledgling form. Luckily for me and Leaphorn and all of us, the late Joan Kahn, then mystery editor of what was then Harper & Row, required some substantial rewriting of that manuscript to bring it up to standards and I — having begun to see the possibilities of Leaphorn — gave him a much better role in the rewrite and made him more Navajo.
Jim Chee emerged several books later. I like to claim he was born from an artistic need for a younger, less sophisticated fellow to make the plot of
People of Darkness
(1980) make sense — and that is mostly true. Chee is a mixture of a couple of hundred of those idealistic, romantic, reckless youngsters I had been lecturing to at the University of New Mexico, with their yearnings for Miniver Cheevy’s “days of old” modified into his wish to keep the Navajo Value System healthy in a universe of consumerism.
I’ll confess here that Leaphorn is the fellow I’d prefer to have living next door and that we share an awful lot of ideas and attitudes. I’ll admit that Chee would sometimes test my patience, as did those students upon whom I modeled him. But both of them in their ways, represent the aspects of the Navajo Way, which I respect and admire. And I will also confess that I never start one of these books in which they appear without being motivated by a desire to give those who read them at least some insight into the culture of a people who deserve to be much better understood.
—Tony Hillerman
The Novels,
As Annotated by T.H.
Leaphorn novels:
The Blessing Way
;
Dance Hall of the Dead
;
Listening Woman
Chee novels:
People of Darkness
;
The Dark Wind
;
The Ghostway
Leaphorn/Chee novels:
Skinwalkers
;
A Thief of Time
;
Talking God
;
Coyote Waits
;
Sacred Clowns
;
The Fallen Man
;
First Eagle
;
Hunting Badger
;
The Wailing Wind
Standalone novels:
The Fly on the Wall
;
Finding Moon
All titles were published in New York by Harper & Row, until 1993’s
Sacred Clowns
, by which time the house, still based in New York, had become HarperCollins.
~
The Blessing Way
(1970)
Lt. Joe Leaphorn must stalk a supernatural killer known as the “Wolf-Witch” along a chilling trail of mysticism and murder.
TH: It was easy enough to make the Enemy Way ceremony germane to the plot. It is used to cure illness caused by exposure to witchcraft and my villain was trying to keep the Navajo away from his territory by spreading witchcraft fears. The problem was devising a way for Joe Leaphorn to connect the ceremony and the killer. The solution came to me when I noticed the peculiar pattern of sweat stains on a felt hat caused by a silver concho hatband. With that in mind, I skip back to an early chapter, write in Leaphorn at a trading post seeing the villain buying a hat to replace one stolen and wondering why someone would steal an old hat and not the expensive silver. That done, I then skip forward to the “scalp shooting” phase of the ceremony, have Leaphorn notice the “scalp” is a sweat-stained hat, find the “scalp shooter” who has delivered the hat to the ceremony, learn from him where (and why) he stole the hat, and thereby solve the mystery.
~
The Fly on the Wall
(1971)
A dead reporter’s secret notebook implicates a senatorial candidate and political figures in a million-dollar murder scam.
TH: Motivating my unheroic hero [reporter John Cotton] to pursue a news story after a death threat was the problem. I hit on having him flee to New Mexico, go fishing at my favorite little stream in isolated Brazos Meadows, and realize the death threat was merely a ruse to get him away from the state capital to somewhere he could be murdered quietly. Thus he knows his only hope is to solve the crime.
~
Dance Hall of the Dead
(1974)
An archaeological dig, a steel hypodermic needle, and the strange laws of the Zuni complicate Lt. Leaphorn’s investigation into the disappearance of two young boys.
TH: The problem here was how to have Leaphorn understand what was motivating the behavior of George Bowlegs, a fugitive Navajo boy. To do this I had Joe gradually understand Zuni theology as a Navajo (or a white mystery writer) would, and realize the boy was trying to make contact with the Zuni Council of the Gods. Thus the boy (and Leaphorn) would come to the Shalako ceremony, at which these spirits make their annual return to the pueblo, and thus I would have my excuse to describe this incredibly beautiful ceremony.
~
Listening Woman
(1978)
A baffling investigation of murder, ghosts, and witches can be solved only by Lt. Leaphorn, a man who understands both his own people and cold-blooded killers.
TH: This book taught me that inability to outline a plot has advantages. The plan was to use Monster Slayer and Born for Water, the hero twins of the Navajo Genesis story, in a mystery involving orphaned brothers (a “spoiled priest” and a militant radical) who collide in their campaigns to help their people. I would use a shaman, the last person to talk to my murder victim before he is killed, as a source for religious information meaningless to the FBI but revealing to Leaphorn. After a series of first chapters that led nowhere, I wrote a second chapter in which Leaphorn stops the villain for speeding and, more or less out of whimsy, I have him see a big ugly dog in the backseat of the car, intending to use the delete key on my new (and first) computer to delete said dog later. That unoutlined dog became crucial to the plot. No more trying to outline.
~
People of Darkness
(1980)
An assassin waits for Officer Jim Chee in the desert to protect a vision of death that for thirty years has been fed by greed and washed by blood.
TH: Older, wiser, urbane Leaphorn refused to fit into my plan to set a plot on the Checkerboard Reservation, in which the government gave alternate square miles of land to the railroads and in which Navajo was intermixed with a plethora of whites, Zunis, Jemez, Lagunas, etc., and a dozen or so missionary outposts of different religions. Since Joe wouldn’t be surprised by any of this I created younger, less culturally assimilated, Jim Chee.
~
The Dark Wind
(1982)
Officer Jim Chee becomes trapped in a deadly web of a cunningly spun plot driven by Navajo sorcery and white man’s greed.
TH: One of the many facets of Navajo culture that appeals to me is the lack of value attached to vengeance. This “eye for an eye” notion pervading white culture is looked upon by the Dineh as a mental illness. I planned to illuminate this with a vengeance — motivated crime — the problem being how to have Joe, who doesn’t believe in vengeance, catch on. The answer came to me in the memory of a long interview I once did with a private detective about his profession. I never used any of that, but a card trick he showed me proved to be just what I needed. My villain, a trading post operator, showed the same trick to Chee, and when he solved it he knew how the crime was done.
~
The Ghostway
(1984)
A photo sends Officer Chee on an odyssey of murder and revenge that moves from an Indian hogan to a deadly healing ceremony.
TH: The trigger for this book was a roofless stone hogan with adjoining shed in a little spring-fed pocket on Mesa Gigante, which dominates the Canoncito Navajo Reservation. I happened across it one autumn afternoon, noticed a hole had been knocked in its north wall, the traditional exit route for the body when death has infected the hogan. But why had the dying person not been moved outside before he died, so the chindi could escape?
~
Skinwalkers
(1986)
Three shotgun blasts in a trailer bring Officer Chee and Lt. Leaphorn together for the first time in an investigation of ritual, witchcraft, and blood.
TH: How do I awaken Jim Chee, sleeping in his cot beside the paper-thin aluminum wall of his trailer home, so he will not be killed when the assassin fires her shotgun through said wall? Everything I try sounds like pure psychic coincides — which I detest in mysteries. Nothing works until I remember the “clack, clack” sound made when a friend’s cat goes through the “cat door” on his porch. I write in a spooky stray cat, for whom Chee makes this cat door (thereby establishing him as a nice guy and giving me a chance to explain Navajo “equal citizenship” relationships with animals). The cat, spooked by the assassin’s approach, darts from its bed under a pinon into the trailer and awakens Chee. At book’s end, when I need to terminate a budding romance, the cat serves a wonderfully symbolic role. This was the first book in which I used both Leaphorn and Chee. It made a great leap forward in sales and hit a bunch of bestseller lists, but not the crucial one in
The New York Times
.
~
A Thief of Time
(1988)
When two corpses appear amid stolen goods and bones at an ancient burial site, Leaphorn and Chee must plunge into the past to unearth the truth.
TH: My “breakout book” (
described elsewhere
in considerable detail) was a “breakout” in more than sales and eventually led to the Public Service Award of the U.S. Department of the Interior, an honorary membership for life in the Western Literature Association, the American Anthropology Association’s Media Award, and the Center for the American Indian’s Ambassador Award, a beautiful bronze of a Comanche warrior holding his coup stick.
~
Talking God
(1989)
A grave robber and a corpse reunite Leaphorn and Chee in a dangerous arena of superstition, ancient ceremony, and living gods.
TH: A book modified by coincidences. While writing Chapter Three I stop because it’s time for Sunday Mass. But the problem stays with me during the ceremony — how to describe a corpse found beside the railroad outside Gallup. I notice an elderly Hispano usher with an aristocratic face dressed in an expensive but well-worn suit. He becomes the victim. But such a man refuses to fit my gang murder plot and turns the book into a Central American political conspiracy assassination. Next, old writing friend Bill Buchanan (
Shining Season
,
Execution Eve
, etc.) mentions a man responding to Bill’s refrigerator sale want-ad was not a potential buyer but a lonely fellow needing to exchange words with a fellow human. That, too, sticks in my mind. I use it. It turns my assassin into a terribly lonely man and provides a much better ending. The first chapter was no problem at all. I have an urban wannabe Navajo send a Smithsonian official a box of her ancestor’s bones, dug from an ancient Episcopal graveyard, for her to display along with the bones of his ancestors. I received “good-for-you” applause from about twenty tribesmen for that one.
~
Coyote Waits
(1990)
When a bullet kills Officer Jim Chee’s good friend Del, a Navajo shaman is arrested for homicide, but the case is far from closed — and requires Leaphorn’s involvement, as well.
TH: When Barney [Hillerman, the author’s brother] and I were prowling the Four Corners with me writing and him photographing stuff for our
Hillerman Country
[1991] he taught me a lesson in optical perspective that solved Leaphorn’s problem in finding the needed witness. Barney anthropomorphized cliffs, canyons, trees, etc., turning their reflected lights and shadows into presidential profiles, bears, and so forth. (Something I do with cloud formations, seeing in them not only God’s glory but dragons, Popeye, and aircraft.)
“Stop,” Barney would say, and point at a rock formation. “See the zebra with the pipe in his mouth?”
I’d say no. He’d say back up a little. We’d stop where all the necessary elements would line up properly and I would either see suggestions of a zebra or, often, simply say I did and drive on with Barney explaining how viewer position and the optics of telescopic lenses affect what you see. It was the sort of data I usually find easy to forget, but I remembered it when stuck for a logical way to have a witness out in empty country witnessing a murder. He became a lonely high school kid whose hobby was landscape photography and who found a way to declare his love for a girl by careful placement of white paint on basalt rocks so the message could be read only from the perspective of her hogan.
I spent weeks trying to have Leaphorn figure that out, wishing I’d never heard of optical perspective.
~
Sacred Clowns
(1993)
Officer Chee attempts to solve two modern murders by deciphering the sacred clown’s ancient message to the people of the Tano pueblo.
TH: This book grew from something left over from an earlier one.
The Dark Wind
had required me to learn about the Hopi. I had slept in my pickup at the edge of Walpi, awaiting morning to interview a fellow for a magazine article. I awoke at sunrise (easy when you’ve been cramped in a Toyota truck) and saw a man emerge from a house. He held the bundle he was carrying up toward the rising sun, stood like that for a long moment, apparently chanting, and then disappeared again into his house.
I learned he had been presenting his eight-day-old child to God, symbolized by the rising sun, in a ceremony in some ways like a Christian baptism and in some ways more than that. The elder I interviewed explained that the chant he had sung presented the infant as a child of God, and recognized the human father and mother as foster parents — promising to nurture God’s child by the Creator’s rules and asking God’s blessings on this task.
Sacred status given children in the religious philosophy of many of the pueblos cast light for me on the role of the Koshare, Mudhead, and other “sacred clown” societies and helps explain why one rarely sees a pueblo child thumped on the ear or otherwise physically punished. I share this belief that each human has this special relationship with God who (“Judgment is mine, sayeth the Lord”) will take care of meting rewards and punishment. Therefore, I spent untold months trying to come up with a way to use it in a plot in a book we named
Mudhead Kiva
.
During this process I discover I have cancer, spend some time in the hospital — wonderful periods away from the telephone for thinking. By the time I got back to serious writing,
Mudhead Kiva
has died and
Sacred Clowns
has emerged, leaving HarperCollins to explain an imaginary book they had been advertising. However, the story improved as much as the title.
~
Finding Moon
(1995)
Moon Mathias discovers his dead brother’s baby daughter is waiting for him in Southeast Asia — a child he didn’t know existed. Finding her in the aftermath of the Vietnam War brings out a side of Moon he had forgotten he possessed.
TH: Closest to my heart, but not to those of editor, publisher, and many of my readers. Peter Thorpe, the talented jacket designer of my Navajo police books, did a beauty for this one — painting a moon rising over Cambodian mountains with the figure of man outlined against its face. I got an early look and endorsed it, whereupon it was redesigned to fit more into the pattern of my previous books — the sort of development that reminds writers of their place in the publishing world.
~
The Fallen Man
(1996)
A man met his death on Ship Rock Mountain eleven years ago, and with the discovery of his body by a group of climbers, Chee and Leaphorn must hunt down the cause of his lonely death.
TH: Several notions in my collection of potential story ideas collided for this one. Idea One was to leave a mountain climber trapped atop Shiprock, as was Monster Slayer in the Navajo origin story. Two was having a custom-made competition rifle firing custom-made ammo used by a sniper on the rim of Canon de Chelly to assassinate a witness far below. Three was to involve cattle rustling and the antirustler tactics of working with “watchers.” Some of these worked but a half dozen others misfired, forcing me to learn a lot more about serious mountain climbing than I wished.