murder but didnât have a clue where the gun was dumped. Detective Jessup says Moran suddenly picked a location when she saw that she was getting close to home and that all the other kids were out of school and watching her.â
I had to give Jessup credit, because that was exactly the impression Iâd had when Cheyanne jumped into the field. Iâd thought sheâd done it out of fear, but Saia seemed to be implying sheâd done it for the attention. âThe timing was bad, Anthony. She shouldnât have been out there when the other kids could see her with the police.â
âWho knew how long the search was going to take?â Saia asked. âWhat you have is a witness, Neil, not a perp. Iâm going to need more than youâve given me to indict Cheyanne Moran.â
âHow about putting her in protective custody, then?â
âIf sheâll be a witness, Iâll talk.â
âShe wonât do that.â
âNo deal, then.â Saia was eating soft, talking tough with a mouth full of beans and salsa.
âYouâre putting a thirteen-year-old girl in a dangerous position, Anthony. You leave her out on the street and sheâs bait.â
âShe always has the option of telling the truth. Iâm sorry, Neil, but this perp story isnât cutting it for me. Iâm under a lot of pressure to indict somebody for Padillaâs murder, but I donât think your clientâs the one. I donât have the DNA back on the bullet yet and we need to interview some more people.â
â Itâs your call,â I said, but his call was leaving me with a low-level anxiety hum. Taos is famous for its hum. There are many people up there who claim they can hear it, but my own feeling about low-level hums is that they come from foreboding and conscience, not from place.
Saia finished his meal and looked down at his empty plate. âIt seems that Ron Cade has an alibi,â he said.
âHow good?â
âI donât know. The boy whoâs supplying the alibi is out of town for a few days playing in a tennis tournament and we havenât been able to question him yet.â
âA tennis tournament?â
âThatâs what Cade says.â
âYouâll let me know when youâve checked it out?â
âSure.â Saia looked at his watch and said, âGotta go.â
He forgot to leave a tip, so I did it for him. I left more for him than I did for me, since heâd eaten his food.
******
Later that afternoon I called Sonia at Sandia Indian Bingo and passed on what Saia had said. Her response to my information was, âShit.â
âKeep Cheyanne at home,â I advised.
******
When I got home after work Tabatoe was in my herb garden getting stoned on catnip and making me feel like the neighborhood drug dealer except that I wasnât getting paid for it. While Tabatoe purred and rolled in the dirt, the gray cat slinked around the corner switching its long tail and stepping lightly on silent paws. It snuck up behind Tabatoe at a leisurely pace, and when it was ready it pounced. Tabatoe let out a howl and raced down the driveway. I picked up a muddy running shoe and threw it at the gray cat. âGet out of here,â I yelled. It took off, too, but when I looked out the window an hour later it was back again chowing down. A territorial battle had been fought in my herb garden, and the gray cat had won. My turf was now its turf, too.
I began to see it often, racing down my driveway, standing on the windowsill silhouetted against the glass while I was in the bathroom, pacing the courtyardâs adobe wall, guarding my catnip and flicking its long gray tail. It seemed like an omen or a threat, always present, always edgy, always wanting something from me. The catnip didnât make it roll contentedly in the dirt. All the weed did was reduce its hunger pangs. When I complained to the Kid, he told me to
Nancy Holder, Debbie Viguié