When no one intruded, she watched the dog pace as she considered the crime, wondering if it would sniff at something else and lead her to a clue, but it didn’t. She heard it barking and noticed how it worked to keep a few persistent crows away from the place the body lay. Too bad it couldn’t tell her what had happened to the man in the torn black pants.
Bernie had finished her water by the time Officer Harold Bigman arrived. His exhaustion showed itself in the way he walked, his arms swinging limply and his head down.
“Hey, Bernie. What have you got?”
“Over there in the weeds.” She pointed with her chin. “A male, maybe forty-something, hands bound behind his back. Down the slope a few yards. You can’t see the body from here.”
He glanced toward the place and turned back to her. “I’ll take your word for it.”
She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t want to hike over to look at the dead man. Dealing with the dead could bring trouble with their chindiis, and even less traditional Navajos had heard enough stories of the evil associated with these spirits to try to limit contact. And homicide investigations on the reservation fell to the FBI.
“I didn’t notice your car.”
“No, I ran from the house.”
“When did you get a dog?” She saw Bigman’s gaze shift toward the weeds where the dog stood panting. “He looks hot.”
“It’s not mine. I saw it here, and that’s why I left the trail to investigate. It was acting suspicious, pacing into the weeds and then back to the trail. It has that green collar but no tags.”
“Hmmm. Questionable dog with no ID. It’s actually a male, by the way. Do you think he’s a suspect?” Bigman grinned, then turned serious. “It’s good you came by before some civilian stumbled across the body and freaked out.”
“Yeah, and we’re lucky that this trail doesn’t have another entrance. People start at the parking lot like you did. We need to shut it down in case there’s any evidence left along the route.”
“If you do that, I’ll stay here with the body and the mutt until the Feds send us home.” Bigman gave her the keys to his unit. “There’s some cold water in the trunk. You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks. There’s an advantage to the heat. It keeps down the foot traffic.”
“You have a way of looking on the bright side, Sister.”
But as he spoke, she saw a woman in black shorts jogging toward them. “I’ll stop that one and then wait at the trailhead. If you see anyone headed back to the parking lot, be sure to get their contact info and find out what they saw.”
Bernie told the woman the trail was closed because of an incident the police were investigating. The jogger, a Navajo in her twenties, looked startled and turned around without argument. Bernie followed the woman to the trailhead, encountering no one else. She found the water in an insulated cooler along with a rope in Bigman’s car that would help secure the dog.
In the next half hour, she turned away two gray-haired ladies and a young male jogger.
Then came a person who wanted to argue with her. He was a bilagáana with disturbingly blue eyes and a deep tan. He ignored her when she called to him. She saw his earbuds and moved to block his path, noticing that his skin glistened with sweat. “Sorry, sir, this trail is closed for now. A police incident.”
He removed his headphones. “What did you say?”
She repeated the message. “No one can use the trail right now.”
“Oh, come on, missy. Why should I believe you are a cop?”
“I’m Officer Bernadette Manuelito.” She stood a bit straighter and pulled out her identification.
He studied it. “OK. I can tell by looking that you’re a runner. I’m training for the ultra-marathon at Canyon de Chelly, and this trail has those sandy places where you have to work harder. I’ve already run it once and I need my second lap. I won’t bother anything. What’s the harm?”
“You train here often?”
“Every day.” He grinned at her. “You know how it is when you’re anticipating an event. You don’t want to break your rhythm.”
“Have you seen anything unusual?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, something different. An altercation? A stranger hanging out near here?” Bernie waited. She could tell from the change in his expression that he had thought of something.
“I don’t know anything, but what if I did?”
“It looks like a serious crime may have been committed. If you have any information that would help us, you should share it. You know who I am. You are?”
The man took a step back. “I’m Ed Summersly. I encounter the same runners out here a lot. It’s not like we’re a club or anything. I spotted a rez dog here a while ago. I thought it was odd because it was just hanging out over there where the trail curves a little, maybe a mile before the cottonwoods. It wasn’t with anybody as far as I could tell.”
“Did you stop?”
“No. I’m not a dog person.”
She asked for his phone number and the spelling of his name, and he reluctantly complied. She put them in her phone.
“Since I’ve been a good guy, can I run?”
“Sure. Go ahead but not here. Not today.”
Summersly gave her a dark look, shook his head, and jogged back to his car.
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed, and it was Chee. She filled him in. “I’m waiting at the trailhead by the parking lot, keeping people away until the Feds get here. Bigman is with the body.”
“Did you get your run in before all this?”
“Yeah. Highlight of the day. How are you?”
“My knee hurts from that dumb fall. I got some ice for it. Things are slow out here. A car break-in at the casino, that’s the big news so far.”
“Be safe.”
“You, too. Is there any shade?”
“A little.”
A car with a pair of bicycles on the roof pulled into the lot, parking next to a black Honda, and she ended Chee’s call to intercept the would-be cyclists.
A few clouds had scooted over the sun, and the afternoon, while not cool, had not grown any warmer by the time the gray sedan pulled up. Bernie recognized the car and felt her anxiety rise. She hadn’t expected to see FBI Agent Sage Johnson on duty on a summer weekend.
The first time they had worked together involved a hostage situation in which Johnson got the name of a crucial person in the scenario wrong. That and other mistakes led to the injury of a key witness. The FBI woman had suggested coffee for what Bernie interpreted as a fence-mending session, but they never got around to it.
The agent lowered the window. Jazz and cool air flowed out.
“Manuelito.” Johnson wore a white blouse. Her dark ball cap said “FBI.” “What’s up?”
Bernie explained what she’d found. “Officer Bigman arrived about ninety minutes ago. He’s with the body. I came up here to close the trail.”
“Do you know this place?”
“I do. It’s a five-mile loop that starts and ends here. I run here often.”
“A hot day for running, isn’t it?”
Bernie didn’t respond.