The road stirred memories of other cases Leaphorn had handled in which the victim, the victim’s family, and sometimes even the alleged perpetrator of the crime talked about witchcraft as the reason for the evil that transpired. He passed Bennett Peak to the west and then Ford Butte. Despite their American names, the monoliths came with Navajo stories of witches and skinwalkers, tales of evil meetings for initiations and other supernatural doings.
Ship Rock rose on the northern horizon as he passed Barber Peak—hardly a peak at all but a relic of the ancient volcanic eruptions that had formed these rocky outcroppings. He watched as Table Mesa, actually three close, flat-topped plateaus, came closer into view.
He pulled off the highway at a convenience store outside Shiprock. Besides needing fuel, he wanted to talk to the manager. Largo had mentioned that Wilson Sam, his potential mentee, had responded to a robbery here.
Leaphorn climbed out of the truck and looked for a squeegee to clean the bugs off his windshield. The buckets of washer fluid were half full but held no tools. He went inside to ask for the equipment and pay for the gasoline in cash. Louisa teased him about this, but old habits die hard. He had lived for years on a cash-only basis. Knowing how much money was in his wallet kept him from overspending. He considered a credit card a tool for emergencies.
The teen girl at the cash register took his money and turned on the gas pump. “The squeegees have been disappearing out there. It’s like they want a vacation, kinda like the rest of us who work here. Especially after the robbery.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a pole with a sponge and scraper on the end. “Can you bring it back, please?”
He nodded. “Is da manjer aroun?”
“Mrs. Roland is in the back.”
“Speak Navajo?”
“Some.”
He switched. “I’m a consultant with the Shiprock police following up on that robbery. I’d like to talk to her about that when I’m done outside.” Leaphorn gave the girl his card.
From the look on her face, she understood at least some of what Leaphorn said, and the card made it official. “I’ll tell her.”
He filled the gas tank and washed his windshield, using a paper towel to remove the streaks. Then he moved the truck to one of the parking places in front of the store and took the squeegee back inside. Mrs. Roland, a middle-aged Navajo in a white polo shirt with the company logo on the pocket, greeted him at the counter. “Let’s go into the back office.”
The “office” was a repurposed storage closet. She moved a cooler from a folding chair and offered Leaphorn the seat. She perched on a nearby box. Her Navajo was good. “Are you working undercover?”
“I’m a private investigator now and a consultant with the Navajo Police.”
“I’m glad you stopped by. Did they find the hold-up guy?”
“Not yet. The investigation is ongoing.” That sounded better, he thought, than the “nothing new” response Largo had given him. “I wanted to talk to you for some follow-up.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Mrs. Roland ran her hand through her short-cut gray hair. “You want a soda or bag of chips? On the house.”
“No, thank you. I have a few questions about the officer who responded to the call. I understand that you were the one who spoke with him.”
“Yeah, it was me all right. The night person didn’t show up, so I had to cover that shift. It was a busy evening, too. Not that I’m complaining. I’m glad I was here. I’m a marine, served in Iraq. Some of my team here are high schoolers. It takes more than a punk like that to shake me up, but I’m grateful the kids didn’t have to deal with him or with that young cop.”
She told him a man wearing sunglasses, jeans, boots, a ball cap, and a hoodie entered the store alone about eleven p.m. “I was suspicious right away. He went over to the cold drink case and stood there until the lady I was making change for left. Then he came over to the cash register with his hand in his sweatshirt pocket like he was pointing a gun at me. He said he had one and told me to give him the money.”
Mrs. Roland exhaled. “I gave him the cash. I shoulda taken him down, but I didn’t wanna risk getting shot over a hundred bucks. He ran out, and I could see him get into a silver SUV parked right in front. I didn’t get the license number, but it was one of those turquoise New Mexico plates. I called the police.”
“Tell me about the response.”
“Well, the officer got here pretty quick. He was a young guy, very formal. I hadn’t seen him before. When I had the other robberies, one time a lady cop came. Short, smart, friendly. I was hoping she’d be the one they sent out here. The other time it was a nice guy, kinda chubby. I remember him joking about how he had to live up to his name, Bigman. I think this one was Wilson Sam something, or something Wilson. I’ve got his card.”
Leaphorn knew the questions the rookie had asked about the robbery and Mrs. Roland’s responses would be covered in his report. “What did you think of Sam?”
“He seemed . . . I’m not sure how to put it.” Mrs. Roland readjusted herself to rest her back against the wall. “It was like he was too busy or too important or something to listen to me. He had a bunch of questions, took photos, asked about surveillance footage. I told him it would be hard to ID the guy from that because of what he had on and where he stood, but the officer didn’t believe me. He acted like I was dumb. He called me honey.” Mrs. Roland studied the ceiling a moment. “That man had a know-it-all, I’m-tougher-than-you attitude. He would have made some of the team nervous, and that’s not what you want when a robbery already has them on edge.”
“Can you give me an example of that?”
She rubbed her chin. “So, I thought he might want to talk to the woman I mentioned, the customer right before the robbery. She left the store with her cigarettes and was smoking outside. She could have seen the guy, maybe without the glasses and the hoodie, or noticed what he was driving. Something like that. When I tried to tell Sam, he snapped at me to stick to the facts, that he didn’t want to hear about a girl who needed a nicotine fix. I saw that attitude in a few young bucks who came to Iraq. They thought it covered up their jitters about being in a bad situation. It got to be a habit, trying to act like you know what’s up when you really don’t.”
She sat a bit straighter. “You’ve been around the block a few times, Joe. You’ve seen it. Men who act like jerks.”
“It makes me ashamed. I appreciate you telling me this about Sam. You have good instincts, a good memory, a good attitude. Did you ever consider joining the police force?”
“I looked into it when I got outta the service. But I was married back then, and my husband was glad to finally have me home and not worry about me. Then he got Parkinson’s.” Roland moved off her perch. “Sure you don’t want a bottle of water or something for the road?”
“Water would be great. I appreciate you taking time to talk to me. You have my card in case you think of something else.”
She nodded.
He noticed the heat as soon as he opened the doors to the asphalt in front of the store.
He had left his phone in the charger in his truck and glanced at it now. He’d missed a call from Bernie. He listened to her message, but she must have had bad coverage because he couldn’t understand it. He called her and got voicemail. “It’s Leaphorn. I’ll be at Shiprock for a meeting. Call me or come by the station.”