The Dark Wind v4 by Tony Hillerman

Author:Tony Hillerman [Hillerman, Tony]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-01-19T15:00:00+00:00

19

THE DRIVE FROM TUBA CITY to the New Mexico State Penitentiary on the Santa Fe plateau is about four hundred miles. Chee, who had risen even earlier than usual and cheated a little on the speed limit, got there in the early afternoon. He identified himself through the microphone at the entrance tower and waited while the tower checked with someone in the administration building. Then the exterior gate slid open. When it had closed behind him, and locked itself, another motor purred and the inside gate rolled down its track. Jim Chee was inside the fence, walking up the long, straight concrete walk through the great flat emptiness of the entrance yard. Nothing living was visible except for a flight of crows high to the north, between the prison and the mountains. But the long rows of cell block windows stared at him. Chee looked back, conscious of being watched. Above the second-floor windows of the second block to his right, the gray concrete was smudged with black. That would be cell block 3, Chee guessed, where more than thirty convicts were butchered and burned by their fellow prisoners in the ghastly riot of 1980. Had Joseph Musket been here then? If he’d been among the rioters, he’d concealed his role well enough to justify parole.

Another electronic lock let Chee through the door of the administration building, into the presence of a thin, middle-aged Chicano guard who manned the entrance desk. “Navajo Tribal Police,” the guard said, eyeing Chee curiously. He glanced down at his clipboard. “Mr. Armijo will handle you.” Another guard, also gray, also Chicano, led him wordlessly to Mr. Armijo’s office.

Mr. Armijo was not wordless. He was plump, and perhaps forty, with coarse black hair razor-cut and blow-dried into this year’s popular shape. His teeth were very, very white and he displayed them in a smile. “Mr. Chee. You’re not going to believe this, but I know this Joseph Musket personally.” Armijo’s smile became a half inch broader. “He was a trusty. Worked right here in our records section for a while. Have a seat. I guess we’ll be getting him back now.” Armijo indicated a gray steel chair with a gray plastic cushion. “Violated his parole, is that it?”

“Looks like it,” Chee said. “I guess you could say he’s a suspect in a burglary. Anyway, we need to know more about him.”

“Here he is.” Armijo handed Chee a brown cardboard accordion file. “All about Joseph Musket.”

Chee put the file on his lap. He’d read through such files before. He knew what was in them, and what wasn’t. “You said you knew him,” Chee said. “What was he like?”

“Like?” The question surprised Armijo. He looked puzzled. He shrugged. “Well, you know. Quiet. Didn’t say much. Did his work.” Armijo frowned. “What do you mean, what was he like?”

A good question, Chee thought. What did he mean? What was he looking for? “Did he tell jokes?” Chee asked. “Was he the kind of guy who sort of takes over a job, or did you have to tell him everything? Have any friends? That sort of thing.

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