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"Which led the U.S. Department of Justice to unplug him from the various life support machines," Janet said. "So Benjamin Kinsman could hurry up and be a murder victim instead of the subject of criminal assault. Thereby simplifying the paperwork."

"Come on, Janet," Chee said. "Be fair. Ben was already dead. The machines were breathing for him, making his heart pump. Kinsman's spirit had gone away."

Janet was sipping her coffee. "You're right about one thing," she said. "This is good fresh Java. Not that weird perfumed stuff the yuppie bars sell for four dollars a cup."

"What else could be checked out?" Chee asked. "In Jano's version."

Janet raised her hand. "First something else," she said. "How about that autopsy? The law requires one in homicides, sort of, but a lot of Navajos don't like the idea and sometimes they're skipped. And I heard one of the docs saying something about organ donations?"

"Kinsman was a Mormon. So were his parents. He'd had a donor card registered," Chee said, studying her as he said it. "But you already knew that. You were changing the subject."

"I'm the defense attorney," she said. "You think my client is guilty. I've got to be careful what I tell you."

Chee nodded. "But if there's something that can be checked out that I'm missing, something that could help his case, then I ought to know about it. I'm not going to go out there and destroy the evidence. Don't you—"

He had started to say: "Don't you trust me?" But she would have said she did. And then she would have returned the question, and he had no idea how he could answer it.

She was leaning forward, elbows on table, chin resting on clasped hands, waiting for him to finish.

"End of statement," he said. "Sure, I think he's guilty. I was there. Had I been a little faster, I would have stopped it."

"Cowboy doesn't think he's guilty."

"Cowboy? Cowboy Dashee?"

"Yes," Janet said. "Your old friend, Deputy Sheriff Cowboy Dashee. He told me Jano is his cousin. He's known him since childhood. They were playmates. Close friends. Cowboy told me that thinking Robert Jano would kill somebody with a rock is like thinking Mother Teresa would strangle the Pope."

"Really?"

"That's what he said. His exact words, in fact."

"How come you got in touch with Cowboy?"

"I didn't. He called the D.A.'s office. Asked who'd be assigned to handle Jano's defense. They told him a new hire would be assigned to it, and he left a message for whoever that would be to give him a call. It was me, so I called him."

"Well, hell," Chee said. "How come he didn't contact me?"

"I don't have to explain that, do I? He was afraid you'd think he was trying—"

"Sure," Chee said. "Of course."

Janet looked sympathetic. "That makes it worse for you, doesn't it? I know you guys go way back."

"Yeah, we do," Chee said. "Cowboy's about as good a friend as I ever had."

"Well, he's a cop, too. He'll understand."

"He's also a Hopi," Chee said. "And some wise man once told us that blood's thicker than water." He sighed. "What did Cowboy tell you?"

"He said Jano had caught his eagle. He was coming home with it. He heard noises. He checked. He found the officer on the ground, head bleeding."

Chee shook his head. "I know. That's the statement he gave us. When he finally decided to talk about it."

"It could be true."

"Sure," Chee said. "It could be true. But how about the slash on his forearm, and his blood mixed with Ben's? And no blood on the eagle? And where's the perpetrator, if it wasn't Jano? Ben Kinsman didn't hit himself on the head with that rock. It wasn't suicide."

"The eagle flew away," Janet said. "And don't be sarcastic."

That stopped Chee cold. He sat for a long moment, just staring at her.

She looked puzzled. "What?"

"He told you the eagle flew away?"

"That's right. When he caught it, Jano was under some brush or something," she said. "A blind, I guess, with something on a cord for bait. He tried to grab the eagle by the legs and just got one of them, and it slashed him on the arm and he released it."

"Janet," Chee said. "The eagle didn't fly away. It was in a wire cage just about eight or ten feet from where Jano was standing over Kinsman."

Janet put down her coffee cup.

Chee frowned. "He told you it got away? But he knew we had it. Why would he tell you that?"

She shrugged. Looked down at her hands.

"And it didn't have any blood on its feathers. At least, I didn't see any. I'm sure the lab would check for it.

"If you think I'm lying, look." He held out his hand, displaying the still healing slash on its side. "I picked up the cage to move it. That's where its talon caught me. Ripped the skin."

Janet's face was flushed. "You didn't have to show We anything," she said. "I didn't think you were lying. I'll ask Jano about it. Maybe I misunderstood. I must have."

Chee saw Janet was embarrassed. "I'll bet I know what happened," he said. "Jano didn't want to talk about the eagle because it got too close to violating kiva secrecy rules. I think it would become a symbolic messenger to God, to the spirit world. Its role would be sacred. He just couldn't talk about it, so he said he turned it loose."

"Maybe so," she said.

"I'll bet he just wanted to divert you. To talk about something besides a touchy religious subject."

Janet's expression told him she doubted that.

"I'll ask him about it," Janet repeated. "I really haven't had much chance to talk to him yet. Just a few minutes. I just got here."

"But he told you he didn't kill Kinsman. Did he tell you who did?"

"Well," Janet said, and hesitated. "You know, Jim, I have to be careful talking about this. Let me just say that I guess whoever it was who had hit Officer Kinsman with the rock must have heard Jano coming and went away. Jano said it started raining about the time you got there. By the time you had him handcuffed in the patrol car, and called in for help, and tried to make Kinsman comfortable, any tracks would have been washed away."

Chee didn't comment on that. He had to be careful, too.

"Don't you think so? Or did you find other tracks?"

"You mean other than Jano's?"

"Of course. Did you have a chance to look for any before it started raining?"

Chee considered the question, why she had asked it and whether she already knew the answer.

"You want some more coffee?"

"Okay," Janet said.

Chee signaled the waiter, thinking about what he was about to do. It was fair, if her effort to get him to state that he hadn't looked for other tracks was fair.

"Janet, Jano told you how he got those deep slashes on his forearm. Did he mention exactly when he got scratched?"

The boy brought the coffee, refilled their cups, asked if they were ready to order breakfast.

"Give us another minute," Chee said.

"When?" Janet said. "Isn't that obvious? It would have been either while he was catching the eagle or when he was putting it in the cage. Or somewhere in between. I didn't quiz him about it."

"But did he say? Specifically when?"

"You mean in relation to what?" she asked, grinning at him. "Come on, Jim. Say it. The police lab people have told you that Jano's blood is mixed with Kinsman's on Kinsman's shirt. The lab is probably doing some of their new molecular magic to tell them if Jano's blood had been exposed to the air longer than Kinsman's, and how much longer, and all that."

"Can they do that now?" he asked, wishing he hadn't been pressing her on this, making her angry for no reason. "They probably would if they could, because the official, formal theory of the crime will be that Jano struggled with Kinsman and got his arm slashed on Kinsman's belt buckle."

"Can they do it? I don't know. Probably. But how can you get cut on a belt buckle?"

"Kinsman liked to bend the rules when he could. Put a feather in his uniform hat, that sort of thing. He put a fancy buckle on his belt to see how long it would be before I told him to take it off. Anyway, that's why the timing seems to be important."