"This is taking too long," Hawk said.
He and Sapp looked at each other and grinned and stood up at the same time.
"Not bad," I said to Tedy. "Not many people can stay with Hawk."
"Not good, either," Sapp said. "Nobody ever stayed with me before."
Sapp made a couple of Scotch and sodas and handed one to Hawk. I went in and got a can of beer and came out and sat on the porch railing with one foot hanging free.
"Chollo and Bobby Horse went off somewhere in the car," Bernard reported.
I looked at Chollo.
"I went up and reconnoitered the Dell," Chollo said, "with my faithful Indian companion."
"How'd it look?" I said.
"Hard to get to," Chollo said.
"I know."
"And they got sentries out all night."
"I assume you weren't spotted?"
"Spotted? Senor, I was with the great Kiowa scout, He-who-walks-everywhere-and-is-never-spotted."
Bobby Horse had no reaction. It was as if he didn't hear us.
"Silly question," I said.
"I maybe found a way to get above them and shoot down."
"Can you find it again?" I said.
Bobby Horse drank some vodka and tonic.
"I am a Native American," he said.
"Oh, yeah," I said. "I forgot. Can you show me?"
"If you can walk as softly as I can," Bobby Horse said.
He never smiled. I never knew for sure how much of his white-man-speakum-with-forked-tongue Indian routine was schtick. I was pretty sure most of it was. I looked at his bare chest.
"Tomorrow you can take me and Hawk up there," I said.
He nodded. His upper body was bunched with muscle. There was a white scar that ran across the coppery skin of his chest, from near the left shoulder almost to his bottom rib on the right side.
"You been out all day with no shirt?" I said.
He nodded again.
"Don't Native Americans get sunburned?" I said.
"Use 'um sunblock."
Chapter 41
IN THE MORNING I called Fresno State University and said I was planning to hire Mary Lou Allard, and asked about her undergraduate career. The registrar spoke with enough accent for me to know that English was her second language.
"Ms. Allard graduated cum laude with a Bachelor of Science degree in Geology," she said.
"Date?"
"June 3, 1985."
"Is there anything else you can tell me about her?" I said.
"No sir, there is not."
"Thanks anyway," I said.
I then called information and asked for Walker in Santa Monica. My question was too hard for the electronic apparatus to which I had asked it, and after a few clicks and bleeps I got a live female voice.
"What listing, please?"
"Judy Walker in Santa Monica," I said.
"What state please?"
"California."
"Do you have a street address?"
"No."
There was a moment of silence in which I knew I was being disapproved of.
Then she said, "One moment, please."
A mechanical voice came back on and gave me a telephone number. I broke the connection and dialed the number. She answered on the third ring.
"My name is Spenser," I said. "I'm a detective working on a case out here in the desert. I understand that your ex-husband is the chief of police in Potshot."
"My ex-husband? Yes, I guess he is. I haven't seen him for nine years."
"I'm doing a little background check. You're divorced from Chief Walker?"
"Yes."
"What were the grounds?" I said.
"Why on earth would you want to know that?"
I laughed.
"Good question," I said. "I guess because my boss will fire me if I don't find out."
She laughed very slightly on her end of the phone.
"We were divorced on the grounds that he coveted his neighbor's wife."
"Really," I said. "And what was her name, if you remember."
"I remember," she said.
"Of course."
She was silent. I waited.
"Mary Lou," she said. "Mary Lou Buckman."
"I see," I said, just like I didn't know. "And, I'm sorry to be so indelicate. But I have to ask. Was his covetousness, ah, fulfilled?"
"You mean was he shacking up with her? Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure. That's why I divorced the bastard."
"And I certainly don't blame you," I said. Sincere as a siding salesman. "Do you know where Ms. Buckman is now?"
"Sure. She's out there in Potshot. The dumb bastard followed her out there."
"Are they together?" I said.
She was warm on the subject now and I didn't have to be so delicate. Pretty soon I'd have trouble getting her to shut up.
"Together? No. Of course not. She's married and with her husband. My stupid husband just followed her out there, in case she decided to cheat on her husband again."
"And if she didn't?"
"He could just moon around her, like a big fruit fly. Men are idiots."
"True," I said. "That's so true."
"Her husband even threatened Dean, once, told him to stay away from his wife."
"How did your husband react?"
"Oh he's a policeman, thinks he's a tough guy, like they all do. I think they're a bunch of babies."
"Did they actually have a fight or anything?"
"Not while I was around."
"Did either of them threaten to kill the other?"
"Kill? Oh God no, it wasn't like that. I never said anything about killing. Why are you talking about killing?"
"Just routine, m'am."
"Is Dean all right?" she said.
"He's fine, m'am. Fine."
"Well, is that all? I've got a lot of things waiting for me."
"Yes, m'am. Thank you for your time."
She hung up without saying "you're welcome." Since I was on a hot streak I called the Department of Water and Power in L.A. and talked with a guy in the personnel department.
"I'm interviewing a Mary Lou Buckman," I said, "for a job. Her resume says she worked for you. Could you verify that for me?"
"Did she say what section?"
"No."
"Give me a minute," he said.
It was more like ten, but finally he came back on the line.
"I hate computers," he said.
"Any decent person would," I said. "Did you locate Mary Lou Buckman?"
"Yes. She was employed with us from 1986 until 1991."
"In what capacity?"
"Resource development."
"Which means?"
"She was a geologist. She looked for new sources of water."
Chapter 42
HAWK AND I were looking at the guns laid out in the dining room, where Vinnie had affectionately arranged them. There were two AR- 15s, three pump-action shotguns, a Winchester.45 carbine, a Heckler Koch with a 20-round magazine, a Jaeger Hunter with a scope, a.44 Rugar bush gun, and a BAR.
"Who owns the BAR?" I said.
"Bobby Horse," Vinnie said.
"Bonnie and Clyde used those," Hawk said.
"Don't know nothing about Bonnie and Whosis," Vinnie said.
There were extra handguns on the sideboard: a Walther P38, two Brownings, a Glock 17, and three Smith Wesson.357 revolvers. The ammunition for each weapon was stacked beside it. Most of the guns were stainless steel and they gleamed happily in their orderly arrangement. The ammunition boxes were mostly green, or red, depending on who made them. The room looked sort of festive.
"Who brought lever action?" Vinnie said.
"Me," I said. "A sentimental favorite."
Vinnie shook his head and went on wiping.
On the floor in front of a side window two pieces of duct tape formed a large X.
"Firing position?" I said.
"Yeah," Vinnie said. "Got five positions marked. Give us a field of fire cover the whole house. Got some other positions located up in the hills, case we want to bail out of here, cover any approach."
I nodded.
"How come you got that Winchester?" Vinnie said.
"Sentimental," I said. "I had it in Laramie. My uncle bought it for me."
"You only got five shots in the sucker, and you got to jack each one up before you shoot."
"I'm not big for volume," I said. "I'm a careful shooter."