Sacred Clowns

Chapter 20

JOE LEAPHORN hadn’t had much sleep. He had stayed up late – sitting in what they had called their guest bedroom in the days when Emma had been alive and they had entertained guests. Now it had become, slowly and with no real pla

He had spent almost two hours reading through the guidebooks she had loaned him, working out the best schedule he could – disgruntled because it had to be based mostly on guesswork. And then he had started packing. “Layers,” she had advised him. “That’s the secret in China. It seems like it’s always cold outside and too hot inside. So take sweaters, and long johns, and some stuff you can peel off. And don’t take too much because it’s easy to get stuff washed. And you are the right size. You can buy Chinese clothing.” She had studied him, smiling. “In fact, I think you could pass for Chinese. Especially up in the north where you’ll be.”

He had pushed the maps aside to make room for his suitcase, folding in shorts, and undershirts, and socks, and in the process uncovering his pajamas. Emma had bought them for him. She had bought him his first set for his birthday two weeks after their marriage, looking at him shyly as he opened the package, wondering how he would take this hint. He had worn pajamas for years in deference to Emma’s modesty, and gradually had become used to them, and to receiving a gift-wrapped new pair whenever a present was appropriate and the previous pair had worn thin. But Emma had died. There had been no more new pajamas then. No more wearing the old ones. Putting them on had provoked far too many memories.

He had picked them out of the drawer, inspected them, and found them in fair condition. A little tight around the stomach, as he remembered, but he had lost a little weight eating his own cooking. One room with two beds. He’d folded them in. And then he had been overpowered by the desolation of this empty, silent house, and the knowledge of loss and loneliness. He had gone out into the darkness, and walked up the gravel street. When he became aware that his feet were hurting, he sat on a boulder where he could watch the last half of the moon rising over the ridge east of Window Rock, and the occasional car rolling down the highway toward Fort Defiance. Finally, when even the highway was silent and the moon was high and the cold had seeped up his pant legs and down the back of his jacket, he got up and walked stiffly home.

In his real office now he felt the lack of sleep. He glanced at his in-basket. It had collected a stack of notes and mail in the days he’d spent working at Thoreau and Tano. But that stack could wait. So could everything else except the Eric Dorsey homicide. He had just a day left to work on that before he left.

He picked up the telephone receiver and buzzed Chee’s number. He’d talk to Chee about what he’d learned at Tano. If nothing else, it would help him judge Chee’s intelligence. The memo Chee had left him showed good instincts. He’d sensed that the people at Tano had seen something Chee had missed. Maybe the boy would come up with something from the Lincoln Cane business.

But Chee didn’t answer his telephone. Leaphorn buzzed Virginia.

“Just a minute,” she said. “I think there’s a note in the overnight file.” The minute passed. “He called in. He said he’s been working on that Todachene vehicular homicide case. He said he has to take the rest of the week off. He’s going to charge it to his a

“Did he leave a number where I can reach him?”

“There’s not a thing about that here,” she said. “You want me to call the Shiprock office?”

“Please,” Leaphorn said. “And let me know.” It wouldn’t do any good, but it would get Virginia off his telephone.

He hung up, feeling sleepy and disgruntled. This absence-without-permission business exactly fit Chee’s reputation. When the kid had worked out of Tuba City, Captain Largo used to complain about the trouble he had getting Chee to follow regulations. At Crownpoint it had been the same story. There his brains had gotten him acting sergeant stripes when he was still green, and his habit of doing his own thing had gotten him busted just as fast.

Ah, well, Leaphorn thought, it was worth the gamble. In this office it didn’t matter so much. Less routine and more i

His telephone buzzed.

“Leaphorn,” he said.

It was Virginia. “The chief wants to talk to you. Line two.”

He punched two.

“Yes sir,” he said. And then he listened, placid at first, then frowning.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yes sir. I didn’t actually hear it but I read about it. I was over at Flagstaff. There was a piece about it in the Arizona Republic. Hell of a fu

“In the tape player on my radio?” He looked at the radio. The tape player was empty. “Let me get this straight,” Leaphorn said. “Sergeant Yazzie was walking by my office and he heard this tape playing in my office. And that was before it was broadcast by KNDN? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Leaphorn listened. “Be damned if I know,” he said. “There’s no tape in there now. Did somebody come in here and take it?”

Listened again, the frown resolving itself into a stolid anger. “All right,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”

He trotted down the stairs. The chief’s door was open. Bernie Redhair, who served as the chief’s secretary and gofer, was sitting behind his desk looking very, very nervous. His smile at Leaphorn came out more like a grimace. Beyond him in the i