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    Spider Woman's Daughter: A Leaphorn, Chee & Manuelito Novel
    Spider Woman's Daughter: A Leaphorn, Chee & Manuelito Novel
    Spider Woman's Daughter: A Leaphorn, Chee & Manuelito Novel
    Ebook357 pages6 hours

    Spider Woman's Daughter: A Leaphorn, Chee & Manuelito Novel

    By Anne Hillerman

    3.5/5

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    • Native American Culture

    • Police Investigation

    • Family Relationships

    • Friendship

    • Navajo Culture

    • Amateur Detective

    • Police Procedural

    • Race Against Time

    • Family Drama

    • Family Secrets

    • Family Legacy

    • Cultural Differences

    • Unreliable Witness

    • Native American Protagonist

    • Power of Friendship

    • Mystery

    • Family

    • Friendship & Loyalty

    • Personal Growth

    • Family & Relationships

    About this ebook

    Don’t miss the TV series, Dark Winds, based on the Leaphorn, Chee, & Manuelito novels, now on AMC and AMC+!  

    NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

    "Spider Woman’s Daughter is an intricately plotted, suspenseful, colorful, and unforgettable journey. Readers will fall in love with Bernie Manuelito and look forward to Anne Hillerman’s next effort in what should be a long, enjoyable, successful series. Her depiction of the Navajo Nation is spot on. I loved this book." — Jo-Ann Mapson, author of award-winning Solomon's Oak and Finding Casey

    Legendary tribal sleuths Leaphorn and Chee are back! The supremely talented daughter of New York Times bestselling author Tony Hillerman continues his popular series.

    It happened in an instant. After a breakfast with colleagues, Navajo Nation Police Officer Bernadette Manuelito sees a sedan careen into the parking lot and hears a crack of gunfire. When the dust clears, someone very close to her is lying on the asphalt in a pool of blood. With the victim in the hospital fighting for his life, every person in the squad and the local FBI office are hell-bent on catching the gunman. Bernie, too, wants in on the investigation, especially when her husband, Sergeant Jim Chee, is put in charge of finding the shooter.

    Bernie and Chee discover that a cold case involving Chee’s former boss and partner, retired lieutenant Joe Leaphorn, may hold the key to the shooting. Digging into the old investigation with fresh eyes and new urgency, husband and wife find themselves inching closer to the truth with every clue . . . and closer to a killer who will do anything to prevent justice from taking its course.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateOct 1, 2013
    ISBN9780062270504
    Author

    Anne Hillerman

    Anne Hillerman is the bestselling author of the Leaphorn, Chee & Manuelito mysteries. The series was created by her father, Tony Hillerman. She is also an executive producer of the Dark Winds television series on AMC. When Anne’s not working, she loves to walk with her dogs, read, cook, travel and enjoy the night sky. She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and Tucson, Arizona.

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    Reviews for Spider Woman's Daughter

    3.5/5

    296 ratings44 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Years ago I enjoyed reading some of the Leaphorn and Chee novels. Anne Hillerman continued her father's series, beginning with this installment. Leaphorn spends most of the novel in the hospital with readers uncertain whether or not he'll survive an attempt on his life. Officer Bernadette "Bernie" Manuelito witnesses the incident and is placed on administrative leave. Her husband Jim Chee is put in charge of the Navajo side of the investigation with the FBI in charge of the case. As they puzzle through Leaphorn's computer and other case files to seek someone with a grudge, attention focuses on an appraisal Leaphorn performed for the AIRC in Santa Fe--mostly because a report that should have arrived did not. When it did show up, parts of the report were missing. Although the "whodunit" was fairly obvious, I still enjoyed the book. I listened to the audio book, and I appreciated the cadence of the narrator's voice which seemed to work well with the Navajo nation setting. I now want to re-read/read the older series as well as forge ahead with Anne's extension of it.
    • 4/5
      It's hard to pick up from another author, even if that author was your father. Still I think Anne Hillerman has done a good job. I don't quite feel the characters as I did with Tony Hillerman but her descriptions and story development were quite well done. I have just downloaded another of her books.
    • 3/5
      I applaud Anne Hillerman for giving us one more book featuring her late father's well-loved characters. She remains true to his vision of the people and locale, and if the pacing is a bit slow at times, it's a small price to pay for one last installment featuring Leaphorn, Jim Chee, and Bernie Manuelito.
    • 4/5
      In this excellent reading, narrated by Christina Delaine, Bernie and Jim Chee are determined to find out who gunned down Leaphorn, right in front of Bernie. Leaphorn ends up in a coma in a Santa Fe hospital, and his longtime companion Louisa has disappeared. Their detective work leads them to some young Indian men with complicated stories and some dedicated archaeologists with a past. To add to the character development, we learn about Bernie's family situation, her elderly mother and her irresponsible younger sister, as well as the depth of her and Chee's marriage. There are loose ends, leading to an urge to read the next in the series.
    • 4/5
      I really enjoyed this continuation of the Leaphorn/Chee mysteries, originally written by the author's father, Tony Hillerman. I like the new perspective focusing on Bernie Manuelito, who is a self-confident female Navajo police officer. The descriptions of the land and character of the people is similar to the original books, which makes them a real pleasure to read.
    • 4/5
      The point of view is more feminine that in Tony's books and the mystery was way too simple. Even so, it has been way too long since I have had a new Hillerman to read and I have forgotten how much I had loved them.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this effort by Anne Hillerman to forge continuity for several of her father's characters. Downsides for me were an ending that seemed rushed & unsatisfying, and a less edgy, more 'domesticated" Jim Chee than we've grown accustomed to. Bernadette Manuelito's development was nicely handled, and the unabridged audiobook reader did a good job with narration.
    • 4/5
      Good story with new and energetic protagonist in Bernie. Vivid and complex new characters; mom, sister, suspects and even the bad guys creates an apt separation from her father's books. However, her understanding and ability to relate the beauty, subtleties and nuances of the Navajo nation, past and present, make her a worthy successor to her father's literary world.
    • 4/5
      What an unexpected treat...to have another Leaphorn & Chee novel, this one written by Tony Hillerman's daughter Anne. The old characters are back, but now with Bernie Manualito playing a leading role. Takes a while to develop suspense, but the story works and now I need to go back and read the old ones, it's been so long.
    • 4/5
      The solution to the mystery becomes evident quite a while before the end of the book, but it is wonderful to have these characters and settings back.
    • 4/5
      So glad to see I can still get to read about Leaphorn and Chee and Manuelito. Was sad when Tony Hillerman died, but his characters live on in his daughter's mind.
    • 2/5
      I listened to the audio version. When the reader doesn't "click" for me, I always wonder how this variable impacts my rating of a book. There was none of the evocative language of the landscape, etc. that I loved about Tony Hillerman's writing. Anne Hillerman's attempt to move the characters along sort of worked but there seems to be a real sense that they are now being written by a woman. And if I heard Bernie Manualito say, “I should have ….” one more time I would have screamed.
    • 4/5
      Anne Hillerman's storytelling skills aren't quite as smooth as her father's, but this is a good first novel and I think she'll grow into the world of Leaphorn, Chee and Bernie. She made a good decision to focus on Officer Manuelito who has a more complex life than her colleagues.
    • 4/5
      It was very enjoyable for me to read Spider Woman’s Daughter by Anne Hillerman. I was a big fan of the Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee books written by Tony Hillerman (her late father). Since his death I have missed those two Navajo Nation police officers and the unique Navajo/Hopi culture in the Arizona/New Mexico area, which includes Window Rock in AZ and Gallup, Shiprock and Santa Fe in NM. Thankfully, Ms. Hillerman has produced a wonderful new Leaphorn and Chee story that enabled me to once again enmesh myself in another criminal investigation by the Navajo police and in that unique and fascinating culture. This book focuses on Sargent Jim Chee and especially on his wife, Officer Bernadette (Bernie) Manualito, who is also a Navajo Nation police officer. As Chee and Manualito investigate the shooting of one of their colleagues, Ms. Hillerman methodically takes them through a complex investigation that introduces the reader to many interesting characters and many intriguing aspects of the Navajo culture and the local environment. Chee and Manualito also endure violent physical attacks during their pursuit of the shooter. Ms. Hillerman adroitly resurrected the characters and the culture that her father had created. She also demonstrated the ability to produce an engrossing story with suspenseful action sequences and a satisfying conclusion. She has written a remarkable first novel. I recommend this book to anyone who appreciates mysteries/detective novels, and especially to those who enjoyed Tony Hillerman’s novels.
    • 4/5
      The pacing is excellent except for a couple of late stumbles, the characters pretty good, the setting well integrated. That the solution becomes obvious to the reader while the detectives don't catch on until too much later and the ranting of the villain is a total fail.
    • 4/5
      I'm impressed - the mystery was good, and the sense of place was a delight.
    • 2/5
      Maybe I'm too steeped in father Tony Hillerman's writing style, but I didn't like this book at all. Bernie Manuelito is a bad-tempered bitch; Jim Chee practically a hen-pecked husband. The Navajo women have lost all their inate dignity. Arguing with police officers, refusing to assist in a police investigation, whining about melting Fudgesicles when a man has been shot. Professor Louisa Bourbonnette, that mature and dignified woman, has been made to act like a high school girl having a hissy fit. Ugh.I'll re-read my old copy of Coyote Waits instead, still my favourite Hillerman.
    • 4/5
      At first I was skeptical about how good, if at all, the book would be..... I wasn't sure that anyone would be able to follow in Tony Hillerman's footsteps, but I was happily disappointed.

      Jim Chee's wife, Dineh Police officer Bernie, is there when a blue car comes up & the driver shoots Joe Leaphorn point blank..... As Leaphorn lays in Bernie's arm, Bernie promises to find out who shot him.

      Leaphorn's notes are all cryptograms.... but they and a not mailed letter lead to AIRC, a museum in Santa Fe that has a fine collection of Southwestern Native American Artifacts. Leaphorn was working for them as an Insurance investigator, looking at a soon to be acquired collection that had some items that were grossly undervalued.

      The shooter's car turns up @ Basha's, which turns out to have been borrowed from a Cranky older Dineh woman..... Who has absolutely no idea, that her son has been loaning it out to others for a bit of cash.

      We also meet Bernie's mother & sister......which will be a continuing story.

      I found this to be fast reading & interesting... I held my interest and I liked it.... in fact I'm looking forward to reading more.
    • 4/5
      "Interesting stories and good writing matter". I am grateful that Anne Hillerman is continuing the education via storytelling about the American Southwest and their Indigenous communities.
    • 3/5
      I have read and enjoyed all of Tony Hillerman's books. This was written by his daughter after his death. I think that she continued the personalities of Jim Chee and Bernie Manuelito, but if didn't seem to have the depth of detail about the Navajo culture that his books did. I did enjoy the book and will probably read additional books that she writes in this series.
    • 4/5
      Tony Hillerman fans will deeply enjoy his daughter's novels. Anne remains true to the places and people...you can just see the locations. It's a great story of love and crime. Bernie has married Chee--her mother calls him Cheeseburger...funny. Leaphorn gets shot in the beginning and you wonder if Anne will kill him off as Bernie and Chee pursue the killer. In the end, strange motive!
    • 5/5
      Lucky Tony Hillerman fans will deeply enjoy his daughter's novels. This one encompasses the Leaphorn legacy, with Bernadette Manuelito now married to Chee, but with less violence and a wondrous sharing of Navaho weaving and pottery. It is one to be savored and shared. Very clever, written with love and humor - I'll now search for ROCK WITH WINGS - even the title is compelling.
    • 5/5
      A great story about loyalty and love. The attempted murder of a retired Navajo policeman is the kick off for the mystery of the book. That plot line was interesting, but I was most struck by the way the author portrayed the way people love, each other, their heritage, and their dreams.
    • 4/5
      Ms. Hillerman does a great job of capturing her father's tone and way of story telling and it is so good to have another Jim Chee book to read. I really enjoyed seeing Jim and Bernie and how they worked together. And a nice nod to one of Mr Hillerman's own stories.
    • 4/5
      Very nice installment in the Leaphorn/Chee mystery series. Hillerman's daughter wrote it and di a very good job. I like that it was mostly from Bernadette “Bernie” Manualito's viewpoint. It lacked maybe a tiny something that kept it from being as good as Tony Hillerman's books, maybe that I knew very early on who the killer was and the motive. They clues kind of dropped like anvils.
    • 4/5
      I've enjoyed many of Tony Hillerman's Leaphorn and Chee novels. His daughter has delivered a new novel and I started it yesterday and was very happy to finish it today. As her father would, Hillerman adds many details of Navaho art and setting in the police procedural.
    • 4/5
      I never really got into Tony Hillerman's books, although there are many of them on my shelves since my husband is a big fan. I did however get a chance to listen to this one last month while I was snowed in, and have decided that the Hillerman books are definintely worth adding to the my teetering TBR pile. I especially liked the female protagonist in this well plotted story that paints a detailed picture of the police procedures employed when crimes occur on Native American reservations in the southwest. I'm definitely going to be reading more of hers when they're published, and will be going back to look at Tony Hillerman's popular series.
    • 5/5
      Very well written. Good plot. Enjoyed it a lot I'll read her next one
    • 2/5
      Not as compelling a read, and I felt like the mystery was not very mysterious. I did enjoy the cultural references.
    • 5/5
      I'm glad Anne picked up the series for her dad. There are too many great stories left to tell and Chee and Bernie have a great future ahead of them. Anne gives a deeper sense of character than her father but I miss the detailed landscape and cultural references that Tony used. Still a great book though.

    Book preview

    Spider Woman's Daughter - Anne Hillerman

    1

    title.jpg

    "I get this call, out of the blue. A woman. First, she reminds me that I saved her life. Then says she wants me to do her a favor . . ."

    Navajo Police lieutenant Joe Leaphorn, retired, paused for effect, pushing away the plate of toast crumbs and empty packets of grape jelly so he could rest his forearms on the table. Wouldn’t you think she’d be offering to do me a favor?

    A couple of the cops sharing the table chuckled. Musta been one of those rich white ladies you’ve been doing insurance work for, Officer Harold Bigman said. You better not tell your Louisa.

    Officer Bernadette Manuelito said, What was the favor?

    Leaphorn smiled. I don’t know, Bernie. She set up a lunch date so she could ask me, and stood me up.

    More chuckles. Maybe she wanted to find out how good a PI you really are, someone tossed in.

    It turned out all right, Leaphorn said. While I was waiting I ate an excellent BLT, enjoyed the quiet. And she gave me a reason not to drive in to Santa Fe that day on another case. I’m getting too old for all this stuff.

    The waitress refilled coffee cups. The Navajo Inn had been a favorite meeting place for cops long before Bernie joined the force, back when Leaphorn worked full-time as a detective. Back when he first earned his reputation as one of the brightest minds in the extended, tightly knit community of the Navajo Nation police force.

    Captain Howard Largo said, Okay, folks, let’s get to business. Leaphorn, you’re welcome to stay as always.

    Leaphorn had a standing invitation to join these Monday breakfast sessions, ostensibly to brainstorm about unsolved cases before the meeting switched to routine matters of budget and staffing. Sometimes they just shared jokes and coffee. Leaphorn and Largo went way back.

    In addition to his leadership team, Largo rotated a younger officer into the group each week. Today would have been her day off, but Bernie had put on her uniform and driven about a hundred miles from her home in Shiprock, honored to be included. The brainstorming hadn’t generated any warm ideas on cold cases, but it had been fun. She’d watched Leaphorn pull out the little brown notebook that lived in his jacket pocket, jot down a few things. In a day or two, if he stuck with his standard pattern, he’d call in with a good lead, a clue to follow.

    Bernie felt her cell phone vibrate. Jim Chee, fellow cop and husband who had been annoyed with her that morning, calling from his office at Shiprock.

    Gotta take this. I’ll be right back. She stood, all five foot two of her, and headed to the lobby. Leaphorn scooted his chair back. You guys have boring bureaucracy to deal with. I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks for the breakfast.

    Leaphorn strolled into the lobby, nodding to Bernie, cell phone at her ear. Say hi to Chee for me, he said. She watched him head toward the parking lot, noticing that he was limping a bit. She knew he had a touch of arthritis in his knee. She should have asked him about that. And about Louisa.

    Hello, beautiful, Chee said. Done with the meeting?

    Not quite. The lieutenant had some good stories. Now the humdrum stuff looms on the horizon. Your timing was perfect.

    Through the lobby window, she saw someone climb out of the blue sedan backed in next to Leaphorn’s white truck. She watched Leaphorn walk toward the truck, extract the keys from his pants pocket.

    You still grumpy? Chee asked. I got off to a bad start this morning.

    The person extended an arm toward the lieutenant. Bernie saw a gun. Heard the unmistakable crack of the shot. Saw Leaphorn stagger back, falling against his pickup. Crumple to the asphalt.

    She dropped her phone as if it were on fire, Chee still talking, and ran. Pushing the restaurant’s heavy glass doors open, she raced toward Leaphorn, reaching for her gun. She watched the shooter scramble into the car and heard the sedan’s tires on the asphalt as it sped away, keeping the car in her peripheral vision as she reached the lieutenant. Squatting down, Bernie pressed her fingers beneath his jaw, feeling for the thread of a pulse against her fingertips.

    His beautiful dark eyes stared at her, through her. Blood flowed down his face from the hole in his forehead, onto her hands.

    Stay with me, she whispered. She spoke to him in Navajo, the language of her heart. Don’t die. Please don’t die.

    She heard others running up behind her, caught the blur of their brown uniforms at her eyes’ margins while she kept her focus on the lieutenant. She recognized Largo’s voice, taking charge, barking orders.

    Bernie said, He’s alive. Two-door blue sedan. Arizona plates. Headed west on 264. Driver was the shooter. A black hoodie.

    Bernie noticed the lieutenant’s skin growing paler, blood pooling beneath his head. She’d never been squeamish; from the time she was old enough to walk, she’d watched her grandmother kill a chicken for their dinner and occasionally slaughter an old sheep. But if Leaphorn died, she knew his chindi would be restless, looking to cause trouble as they all did, as was their nature. It wouldn’t matter that she loved him and he, in his gruff, official way, loved her.

    She spoke in Navajo. Help is coming. Hang in there, my uncle. She moved closer to him on the asphalt, the side of her body now against his, held his hand. She wanted to put his head in her lap, but her training stopped her. She knew moving a head injury victim could cause more trouble.

    She felt the deep rumble of police units roaring to life. A siren wailed, followed by another.

    Someone asked, You okay, Bernie?

    Yeah.

    She felt Leaphorn’s body shudder. Stay with me, she told him. I promise I’ll find out why this happened and who did this to you. Who would try to kill such a valuable man? An old man now. Where was the blue car?

    Then she heard a different siren, the howl growing louder as it approached. She looked up from his closed eyes as the ambulance parked and the attendants ran to her.

    One bullet hit him, she said before they asked. A head wound. I saw him collapse. I haven’t moved him.

    An EMT lowered himself next to them. She smelled the sweat from his uniform.

    You hit?

    No. Nothing.

    Who is he?

    Leaphorn. Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn.

    No kidding? I’ve heard of him, the man said. I need you to move, Officer, so we can get to work here.

    She squeezed the lieutenant’s hand and stood. The EMT spoke to Leaphorn as he felt for a pulse, watched for signs of a reaction to his questions. The other man rolled the gurney out with portable oxygen, a neck brace, more.

    Are you all right? the second EMT asked her.

    She nodded. Just focus on him. She noticed a flash of metal on the ground. Leaphorn’s keys. She wiped the blood from her hands onto her pants, then put the keys in her pocket.

    They loaded the gurney into the ambulance. She thought about the blue car. Everything was different now. She saw Largo at his unit, radio in one hand. He noticed her, put the radio down and walked to her, put his hand on her shoulder. They watched the ambulance drive away, lights flashing.

    I didn’t get much of a look at the shooter, she said. Small. Dark clothes. A single shot. I didn’t get the plate number, but it was Arizona.

    The FBI is on the way. They will need a statement from you. You know how these things work.

    She knew how it worked. In any serious crime in Indian Country, including attempted murder of a law enforcement officer, investigation fell to the FBI. Leaphorn was still deputized, even though he was retired. The Navajo Police worked in conjunction with the feds, which usually meant they took the role of stepchild. But every cop hated a wannabe cop killer. When it was personal, the rules could bend, meaning the Navajo Police could have a bigger role. She knew Largo would make sure of that.

    Stay put, help Bigman secure the crime scene until whoever’s coming gets here. When you’re done with that, come talk to me.

    Yes, sir, she said. This stinks. She reached in her pocket and handed Leaphorn’s key ring, with a woven leather fob on the end, to Largo. I picked these up over there. I should have just left them at the crime scene. I’ll let the guys know where they were.

    Largo said, I’m glad nothing happened to you. He turned his broad back toward his car, then faced her again. Chee called. I told him what happened. He wants you to call him.

    The town of Window Rock, the capital city of the Navajo Nation, gets its American name from the red sandstone arch, a low eye in the sky, a graceful portal from heaven to the earth. Formed by wind and rain, it’s known as Tségháhoodzání in Navajo. Beneath the arch, a natural spring bubbles up, a source of healing water and a tangible blessing in desert country. The spring gives the site its other Navajo name, Ni’ ‘Alníi’gi.

    Bernie couldn’t see the arch from the parking lot of the Navajo Inn. Instead, she looked at the white pickups and SUVs of the Navajo Police Department, more officers than she’d ever seen at a crime scene. But there had never been a shooting of one of the Navajo Nation’s best-known policemen in broad daylight outside a busy restaurant, with a table full of other cops just a heartbeat away.

    The assemblage of officers and chorus of sirens alerted the peaceful people of this largely Navajo town of about three thousand to the fact that something serious had happened. Restaurant patrons left bacon and eggs in the dining room to watch the commotion; travelers heading west from Gallup, New Mexico, or east from Ganado, Arizona, slowed down to gawk. No doubt they talked about it as they drove—probably good for at least ten miles’ worth of conversation.

    She watched Largo fold himself into his unit and head to police headquarters to coordinate the search for Leaphorn’s attacker. Other officers, she noticed, had cordoned off the place where he had lain bleeding, along with the rest of the parking lot. It was still early, but the day promised to continue the hot, dry June. Typical early summer weather waiting to be broken by the start of the thunderstorm season was still weeks away.

    In addition to curious locals, the growing crowd included the bilagaana tourists, visitors from California, Texas, and elsewhere who parked at the Navajo Inn for a bite to eat and a cruise through the gift shop. The crime scene meant a change in their schedules.

    Officer Bigman stood next to a white man poured into a T-shirt that hugged tight to his beefy shoulders. Phoenix . . . a flight tonight . . .  , Bernie heard, and she noticed that the tourist’s face was an unnatural shade of pink. Even before he took that step toward Bigman, she’d sized him up: belligerent and obnoxious, personality characteristics amplified by being told no.

    We had nothing to do with any of this. I won’t stand for it. Pink Face was yelling now, staring at her as she walked closer. This is police harassment.

    She saw Bigman’s shoulders stiffen and felt her own blood spike with adrenaline.

    You need to calm down, sir, Bernie said. Her voice was louder than she’d intended. Good. She stared hard at Pink Face. We’ll have your car to you as soon as we can.

    She saw him look at her hands and arms. He opened his mouth. Closed it. She kept her gaze on him, steady as an eagle.

    The one who got shot was a fellow officer, she said. A friend of ours, too. We’re doing this right. You don’t want to get in the way of that. Trust me.

    How long before my wife and I can get our car?

    As long as it takes, Bernie said.

    We’ll let you know, Bigman added.

    Bernie noticed the man staring at her again. There’s blood on you.

    Why don’t you go inside, sir, get out of the sun.

    The man opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. Headed for the air-conditioned restaurant.

    Bigman exhaled loudly. Largo says you got to him first.

    Yeah. He was still alive in the ambulance.

    It’s tough being first, he said.

    She remembered that Bigman had happened on the scene when an officer from Fort Defiance, a friend he’d gone to high school with, took a bullet in the chest from a drug-crazed gangbanger.

    I’ve got an exciting job for you, Bigman said. Help us search the parking lot for shell casings, cigarette butts, whatever else we can find.

    Sure, she said. I need to hang here until the feds come. I’ll be back as soon as I wash off.

    She walked through the lobby, now crowded with customers waiting for their cars and Navajo Inn staff watching the excitement. In the restroom, she ran cool water over her hands and arms, watched as it flowed pink down the drain, then, finally, clear. She added soap. Noticed she was shaking. Examined herself in the mirror as she washed her face with a damp paper towel. Smoothed her hair. Then went back outside to work.

    The day had grown from warm to hot when the sleek black Crown Victoria with tinted windows pulled up to the Navajo Inn’s front door and parked in the loading zone. Unlike most cars in Window Rock, it had a dust-free car-wash shine.

    A man in a grey suit, pale blue shirt, and deep blue necktie climbed out, moving like a person sure of himself. Bernie recognized him before he said a word.

    Officer Manuelito?

    That’s me.

    Agent Jerry Cordova. He showed her his shield. Anything interesting out here?

    Not unless you’re interested in fast food wrappers. Some cigarette butts, but nothing around where the shooter parked, Bernie said. No shell casings.

    Let’s go inside where we can talk.

    He steered her to a quiet table in the rear of the restaurant. In his early thirties, she thought. Younger than the typical FBI guy who came to the rez. The FBIs stationed in Gallup were either on their way out or on their way up. Thick black hair, clear skin, a nice smile. Something about him told her he understood how the federal system worked and how to make the most of it.

    You want something? Cordova asked.

    Bernie smiled at the waitress. A Coke would be great.

    Cordova ordered iced tea.

    They sat quietly a minute.

    You know him? Cordova asked.

    Yes. I met him when I first started here. She’d left home and police work for a stint with the Border Patrol, missed Dinetah, the Navajo motherland, and rejoined the Navajo force.

    The waitress brought the drinks, a plate of sizzling French fries, and a red squeeze bottle of ketchup. The round-faced, big-bellied Navajo woman had been at the restaurant ever since Bernie had been coming here. Nellie Roanhorse, Bernie remembered.

    I thought you could use something to eat, Nellie said to Bernie. The one who got shot, he liked our fries. Bernie realized Nellie thought Leaphorn had died and was using the custom of not saying the name of the deceased so the malevolent spirit left behind, the chindi, wouldn’t think you were calling it.

    That man was alive when he left in the ambulance, Bernie said. She saw the waitress’s face relax.

    Someone picked up your phone, Nellie said. They have it for you there at registration.

    Cordova said, We’re going to be talking privately a few minutes. I’ll wave at you if we need anything.

    After Nellie left, Bernie sipped her Coke. I wasn’t expecting the FBI to be here so quickly.

    Luck. I had some interviews in St. Michael’s. Otherwise, I would have been in Flagstaff. Cordova carefully tore the corner off a white packet of sugar and sprinkled it into his tea. Have you ever been to that old mission? It’s really interesting.

    Did you notice the typewriter they’ve got over there? Bernie said. It was the first one to be keyed for the Navajo language.

    Impressive. A beautiful spot, too. She watched Cordova empty three more packets of sugar into his tea and stir. She noticed his well-tended nails and gold wedding band.

    I heard Lieutenant Leaphorn could look at evidence and read it to discover stuff no one else saw, he said. I heard he could make a few phone calls to his contacts and shake things up. That he could take an investigation that had been long stalled and move it forward.

    He’s special. We worked together on a cold case involving a missing woman, Bernie said. He found her body locked in one of those Quonset huts at Fort Wingate years after she’d disappeared. He has an amazing mind for detail. The lieutenant and my husband worked together on a bunch of cases a few years ago, so I knew him that way, too. He’s good at what he does, and he loves it.

    That’s why Largo kept him in the loop even after he retired?

    Bernie nodded. That’s why we call him lieutenant, not just Leaphorn.

    I wondered about that. Cordova took out a fancy tape recorder. We’d better get on with this. Are you ready?

    Let’s do it. Bernie felt anxiety clutch her stomach, squeezing.

    Take a deep breath, he said. She did.

    I’m not going woo-woo on you, but let your brain relax. Let your thoughts float. As I ask questions, see if any images come up. Don’t push, don’t hurry. Take your time to revisit the scene and study what’s there. You can close your eyes if that helps.

    She kept her eyes open.

    She started in the lobby, watching the shooter open the door of the car.

    Tell me about the person, he said. Every detail.

    Small, she said. Maybe five foot three. Hundred and twenty pounds. A black hoodie pulled up. Dark pants, dark hand on the gun. I remember a glint of something silver on the wrist. She shook her head. If only I’d moved faster, I could have had a real description. I never should have stopped my morning run.

    Cordova said, Life is full of if-onlys. You look fit to me. Better than average. He smiled at her. "But don’t let me discourage you from running.

    Take another breath. Don’t judge yourself, just tell me what happened. That’s all. He asked about the car again, taking her over the same territory from a slightly different angle, searching for details. She remembered a glimpse of a red bumper sticker.

    He asked about the gun.

    A pistol, she said. Black. Too quick to see much else about it.

    Did Lieutenant Leaphorn mention getting death threats?

    She shrugged. Not to me. He’s a private man. Keeps his thoughts to himself.

    Any jealous husbands, angry neighbors, crazy kids, family feuds, stuff like that, on his plate?

    She shook her head. He never talked about neighbors. Or about relatives. He shares his house with a lady friend, Louisa.

    Cordova raised his eyebrows.

    Louisa Bourebonette.

    Bourebonette? A French Navajo?

    Not Navajo, Bernie said. She’s a white woman, an anthropologist. Bernie thought of the old joke from Anthro 101: Every Navajo family includes Mom, Dad, four kids, and an anthropologist.

    Cordova made a note.

    She’s taller than I am, grey hair. Drives a white Jeep.

    Cordova sipped his sweet tea, glanced out the window that faced the restaurant’s back courtyard. Is Leaphorn married? Any children?

    No, and no kids. I can see where you’re going with this. Leaphorn’s wife Emma died about ten years ago. Bernie picked up a fry, dipped it in ketchup, ate it.

    At this morning’s meeting, did Leaphorn seem worried about anything? Cordova asked.

    No. Not that I noticed.

    Sometimes shootings like this are random. Guys who hate cops, all cops, go berserk. Some poor officer ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time. This might be one of those, and Leaphorn just happened to be the first guy out. But it doesn’t smell like one of those anticop cases. For one thing, Leaphorn wasn’t in uniform. Cordova tried a fry. No ketchup. Seems like the guy who did it parked out there, waiting especially for Leaphorn.

    That’s how I see it, Bernie said. "And the guy could be a she. Our job is to find out who."

    Cops make enemies, Cordova said. Comes with the territory.

    She knew he waited for her to say something else. After he retired, Leaphorn started a PI business specializing in insurance fraud cases. He might have a disgruntled client.

    Bernie finished her Coke. Thought about asking Nellie for a box for the fries. Decided against it.

    Cordova stood up. I’ll be talking to you again. He gave her his card. Call me if you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant it might seem.

    Whatever I can do, Bernie said.

    Pleasure meeting you, even under these circumstances. I’m sorry about your friend.

    By the time she got back to the parking lot, the Arizona State Police crime team, called in by Agent Cordova and Captain Largo, was at work beside the Navajo officers. The looky-loos were still there, too.

    How’s it going? she asked Bigman. Any news?

    He rose from where he’d been examining the asphalt. Nothing. The shooter didn’t leave a stray business card.

    Bigman stretched his neck, rolling it side to side. We talked to the staff, and a tourist couple checking out about the time the lieutenant was hit. So far, you’re the only witness.

    Bernie nodded. The FBI man, Cordova, had a lot of good questions.

    I hear he’s sharp, Bigman said. Won’t be long until he moves up the food chain.

    Did you learn anything about the lieutenant? How he’s doing? She pictured Leaphorn as they waited for the ambulance. Remembered the pool of blood on the blacktop.

    Nothing yet. Bigman took off his hat, rubbed his scalp. Put it back on. This ticks me off big-time. The legendary lieutenant who wrote the primer on how to solve crimes on the rez. Taught a lot of us how to think like a crook, how to figure out why one and one don’t always make two. Now we get to use what we learned to solve his own case, figure out why someone would shoot a good man.

    We’ll get whoever did this, she said. I promised the lieutenant.

    Bernie climbed into her Toyota, rolled down the windows to let the hot air out. She was glad the car didn’t have a thermometer. Seeing how hot it was would have only made her warmer. It was probably ninety outside, she reasoned, and warmer than that in the Tercel. She would have switched on the air-conditioning if she’d had any.

    She pulled out her phone and hit recent calls.

    Chee answered after the first ring. Honey. Are you all right?

    I’m fine.

    Largo told me what happened, he said. Did you get a look at the shooter?

    Just a glance. He walked right up to the lieutenant. Fired one shot at point-blank range. The bullet hit Leaphorn in the head. He never had a chance. Then the shooter drove away. She felt emotion welling up now. Shoved it down.

    It was awful. Her words came faster now, tumbling out. If I’d gone out there with him, things might have been different.

    Things might have been different, Chee said. You might be dead now, Officer Manuelito.

    She heard the tension in his voice. She waited, partly out of ingrained Navajo politeness and partly because she knew the man. When he spoke again, his tone had a smoother edge.

    I could have lost you today. I was scared, sweetheart.

    She said, I need to go. I have to meet with Largo. I can’t talk anymore.

    She hung up just as the damn tears forced their way out, rushing through the hairline cracks in her willpower.

    2

    title.jpg

    Window Rock lives on government: offices for the Navajo Nation’s president, legislators, and their staffs, the court system and its support team, fish and wildlife, archaeology, fire and rescue, veterans’ affairs, tourism, and economic development. The state of Arizona’s bureaucracy provides jobs with departments for drivers’ licenses and social services. Federal offices perch along Navajo Route 3 and Arizona 264—the highway to St. Michael’s and Ganado, home of the historic Hubbell Trading Post.

    The Navajo Division of Public Safety headquarters occupies an assembly of low buildings on the edge of the mesa country that frames the town. The compound has a 1960s utilitarian, strictly-business feel to it. Most of the officers who serve are Diné—the Navajo word loosely meaning The People. Related or not, they treat each other like relatives, occasionally engaging in family feuds but, in times of stress, working together with a single focus. In addition to following police procedure, for the officers on the force, serving effectively means understanding relationships among and between the Navajo Nation’s extended families. The officers need to know who has a grudge against whom, who has problems with drugs or drinking, who might be a little crazy, born mean, or both. They need to understand who respects the Navajo Way and who is estranged from it. The roughly 230 men and women commissioned as officers work out of seven home-base locations, responding each year to an average of more than 289,000 calls for service spread out over the 17.2 million acres of the reservation.

    Inside the police building, Bernie noticed an eerie quiet, the absence of the usual joking and carrying on, a stillness befitting he who had been ambushed. News travels fast in a place like this, and word that a famous old policeman had been shot down in cold blood moved like lightning.

    Captain Largo paced in his office, door open. Bernie had never seen Largo agitated. She tapped on the door frame, saw him glance up, and walked in.

    How is the lieutenant? she asked.

    The ambulance just got to Gallup. He made it that far.

    Bernie looked at her hands, discovering dried blood beneath her nails.

    You did just right out there. Good description of the car, Largo said. Sit down.

    She felt the cool metal of the

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