Read The Sinister Pig - 15 for Free Online Page B

to find out, one way or another. Why not just tell us about it. How’d you get the card. Save time.”
    “This Manley guy. He said use it if I need it. Just pay him back.”
    “It’s Mankin,” Osborne said. “Were you there when he was shot?”
    “Shot?” Desboti’s eyes were wide.
    “Or were you the one who shot him?”
    Chee had been leaning against Chinosa’s van, watching Osborne work, thinking he was handling it fairly well, and maybe this blunt approach would save time. It did.
    “I didn’t shoot anybody,” Desboti said, talking fast now. “I was cleaning up that campground. That’s my job. For the tribal parks. And bears had smelled the food in [43] the trash and turned over the canister. Scattered the stuff all around, and there it was on the ground with the garbage. Dirty, but a pretty good-looking billfold. I just picked it up and cleaned it off.”
    “Cleaned it off?”
    Desboti grimaced again. “People come through here, they’ve saved up those damned paper diapers and they dump ’em out at the campgrounds.”
    “Oh,” Osborne said, and glanced at Chee. It seemed to Chee that this answered a question for him. It made that trash bin a logical place to bury things you didn’t want recovered.
    “The credit card was in the wallet? What else?” Osborne asked.
    “No money,” Desboti said, looking thoughtful. Looking like he was trying to remember. “Nothing much. Driver’s license. Two keys. Looked like car keys. Pretty empty, like it was new.”
    “You have it?”
    Desboti opened his mouth, closed it, looked down, shrugged. Reached into his hip pocket and extracted a slim black leather wallet. “Just my stuff in it now,” he said. He extracted what looked to Chee like a twenty and several small bills and handed it to Osborne.
    He inspected it. Extracted two small padlock keys and showed them to Desboti. “These yours?”
    “No. They were in it.”
    “Driver’s license? Any other papers?”
    “Well, yeah. There was a driver’s license. And some cards. Insurance I think. And receipts you get at the gasoline pump. I think that was all.” Desboti nodded, licked his lips. “Did you say somebody shot that man?”
    [44] “Yes,” Osborne said. “Where are those other papers from the wallet.”
    “Went back into the trash with the baby diapers, then into the truck and off to the trash dump.”
    Chee closed his eyes. Osborne was going to say they’d go to that dump and Desboti was going to show them where he thought he dumped the load, and then they were going to start sorting through a mountain of dirty diapers, empty beer cans, and worse.
    But Osborne didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “Let’s go see exactly where you found this wallet.”
    Which, Chee thought, would be a waste of time but far better than sifting through smelly diapers for the papers. And it was.
    Driving back to Farmington through the summer darkness, Chee found himself beginning to form a fondness for Osborne. He steered the chat into telling Osborne about being sent by the Navajo Tribal Police back to a training session at the FBI Academy, comparing notes, relaxed and casual. “I still try to do those memory exercises they taught us. I can remember everything about that Jeep Cherokee rented to Mankin. How good are you?”
    “I’ve lost some of it I guess. It was dirty white. Year-old model. Something over twenty-three thousand miles on it. Tires looked a little worse than that. Chip on the windshield. Lot of dirt and gravelly stuff on the floor pad. Lot of various tools in the back. Got it all written in my notes.”
    “I remember his copy of the rental form had him refusing the insurance, so forth,” Chee said. “I think he put down some sort of oil-drilling outfit for his company.”
    [45] “Got you there,” Osborne said. “It was Seamless Weld.”
    “Oh, well,” Chee said. “That could be pipeline maintenance. What did your boss say about Mankin? What he was doing up here?