Sacred Clowns

“I’m city In-dun,” Blizzard said, picking up the Navajo pronunciation. “I don’t understand these sheep camp In-duns yet. Polite as I am known to be, I think I must say the wrong things sometimes. Not come on just right.” Blizzard paused, awaiting a comment, and, getting none, went on.

“Back at the Kanitewa house at the pueblo, you got his mama to talking. You think you could get the boy to talk?”

“I don’t know,” Chee said. “Not if it’s anything to do with his religion.”

“I don’t care about his damn religion,” Blizzard said. “What I want to know about is what his mama told us. About why he was in such a sweat to see his uncle, and why he had to go back and see him the second time, and what he had in that package he brought for him.”

“It must have been something long and narrow. Maybe something rolled up in a tube. Didn’t you guys find anything like that in Sayesva’s place?”

“Nothing,” Blizzard said. He paused. “Well, hell, there was plenty of long narrow stuff in his house, you know. It could have been anything.”

“And the boy wouldn’t tell you?”

“Just shut totally up,” Blizzard said.

“You asked him specifically? About what he’d brought for his uncle in the newspaper?”

“He said it had to do with his kiva. His religious outfit. Said he couldn’t talk about it.”

“He won’t tell me, either, then,” Chee said. “I don’t think you Cheye

There was a long silence. Then Blizzard said, “Uh-huh,” in a tone which said a lot more than that. “Well, then, thanks a lot and to hell with it.”

“Wait a minute,” Chee said. “I’ll have to get out there anyway.” He delivered a self-deprecatory laugh. “I’m supposed to get him to call his grandmother. So when I get out there, I’ll see if I can get anything out of him. If I do, I’ll call you.”

“Yeah,” Blizzard said. “Good.” A long pause followed. “Anything I can provide you?” Blizzard finally asked.

“I don’t think so,” Chee said, sounding puzzled.

“You got my phone number?”

“Oh,” Chee said. “No.”

“I didn’t think so,” Blizzard said, and gave it to him.

Chee copied it, read it back. “I’ll call,” he said.

“Like about when, you think?” Blizzard said. “Maybe today?”

“What’s the hurry?”

“The hurry is my agent-in-charge. I told him about the two visits, and the package. And that got him all heated up. He hasn’t got another damn thing to work on in this case. So then when I found the boy and let him off at the school, I called the son-of-a-bitch. And I told him what the boy said. About it just being religious business. The package and all. And he wants to know exactly what was in the package.”

“Oh,” Chee said.

“Or bring the kid back to Albuquerque for him to question him.”

“Fat lot of good that will do,” Chee said. He was thinking of the Grandmother Councilwoman, who would be plenty pissed off, and would pass it along to Leaphorn, who would – Would what? He had just worked for the man a few days. How would Leaphorn react? “But I guess you don’t have much choice,” Chee concluded.

“Well, some,” Blizzard said. “While I was talking to the feds in Albuquerque, the kid took off again.”

“Oh,” Chee said. “Not again.” He was silent a moment, absorbing the disappointment. Back to square one. It didn’t surprise him much. But it was interesting. So was Blizzard. Chee found himself thinking of the man not as a Cheye

“Tell you what,” he said. “You get yourself something to eat in that diner by the gas station, and then get over to the Crownpoint police station. I’ll meet you there. The lieutenant in charge is a man named Toddy. Try to be nice to him. It’ll take me maybe two hours, and if anything hangs me up, I’ll call you there.”

“Done,” Blizzard said, and hung up.

Chee put on his cap, his gun belt, and his jacket. He called the dispatcher and told her he would be driving to the subagency office at Crownpoint. He sat for a moment, thinking, then picked up the phone book and extracted the number of radio station KNDN.

The woman who took the call was cooperative. She put him on hold for a few moments, and then read him the transcript of the six P.M. news of three nights ago. It included five items: the change in schedule of a rodeo at Tuba City, a plan to improve the runway of the landing strip at Kayenta, the death in the hospital at Gallup of the former chairwoman of the Coyote Pass Chapter, the replacement of the retired principal of the Toadlena school, and the murder of Eric Dorsey at the Saint Bonaventure Indian Mission.

Chee took two steps toward the door. Then he turned and sat, cap, jacket, and gun belt on, typing a memo for Lieutenant Leaphorn. He had worked for the lieutenant long enough now to make it a long one.

Chapter 9

“HE SHOULD BE in just about any time,” said Virginia Toledo, examining Chee over her glasses. “He went to Flagstaff yesterday and he called a little while ago and said he’d be late.”

“Called from here?” Chee asked. “Or called from Flag? Or radioed in from somewhere?” He was holding a folder in his right hand and his uniform cap in his left.

Virginia Toledo had not yet decided what her relationship would be with Officer Jim Chee and did not like the sound of this abrupt questioning. For the past twenty-three years her job title had been Administrative Assistant, Navajo Department of Public Safety, and she was, in fact, the workaday nerve center of the Window Rock operation. What’s going on? Ask Virgie. Why’s Desbah not in his office? Virgie will know. What happened at that meeting last night? Get Virgie to tell you. Virgie knew exactly how to deal with everybody in the building, including Joe Leaphorn, Chee’s boss. But now this young Jim Chee was holding down that little office upstairs. She didn’t know him. She’d heard he was sometimes something of a screwup. She inspected him over her glasses. His tone had struck her as unduly demanding. He was a college man. Maybe he’d been around white men so long he’d lost his good ma

“He called from his house,” she said. “Just about ten minutes ago.”

“If he calls again,” Chee said, heading for the stairs, “would you tell him I’ll be waiting in my office? And I need to see him.” He stopped, turned, and smiled at Administrative Assistant Virginia Toledo. “Please,” he said. “And thank you.”

The door to Leaphorn’s office was about fifteen feet from Chee’s door. He tapped on it on his way past, got no response, tapped again, and turned the knob. Of course it wasn’t locked. He’d heard it wouldn’t be – that one of the lieutenant’s several idiosyncrasies was a refusal to lock his office. “If you have to lock your door in the police station,” Leaphorn would say, “then it’s time to get new policemen.” But that attitude seemed to be common in the department. Nobody locked doors at the Tuba City station either. Nor, come to think of it, at Crownpoint when he’d worked out of there.

Chee said, “Lieutenant?” in a loud voice, and looked around. Neat, tidy, the desk top clear. No sign of dust. Dust wouldn’t dare.

In his own office, Chee reread his newly revised report.

Blizzard had been waiting in the parking lot outside the Crownpoint station – sprawled across the front seat of his car, long legs dangling out the open door, head resting on his jacket folded against the passenger door, reading a book. The book, Chee noticed, had a dust jacket that looked science fictionish and bore the name Roger Zelazny.