The firefighters had begun to assemble what they needed to spread flame-retardant foam on the smoldering car when a San Juan sheriff’s car pulled into the parking lot.
Sam left his post by the door and ran to the car. Bernie felt her anger rise, but evidently he told the deputy she was in charge because the cruiser drove toward her. She recognized the man at the wheel, an officer she’d talked to that summer when her sister had been arrested. She didn’t recall his name at the moment, and didn’t recognize his partner. He lowered his window.
“You guys got here quickly.”
The deputy stroked his mustache. “Amazing, I know. What’s up?”
“A car exploded and seriously injured one man. So far, nothing else has blown up but we have another problem.” The fumes had irritated her throat and it hurt to talk. “People already want out of the gym and there’s a lineup of cars waiting to pick up kids. The game will end soon, and that’s when the real fun begins.”
The deputy nodded. “If there’s a sniper, another bomb . . .” He turned to his partner, a husky woman with gray in her hair. “You try to keep people in the gym. I’ll drive back to the gate and block the entrance. Stop the confusion from getting worse.”
Bernie looked at the female deputy. “Mr. Franklin, a tribal official, is helping inside.” She described him, and told the officer the names of the security guards.
Already, about a dozen more vehicles had come in. The sheriff’s deputy managed to stop them from getting close to the crime scene, and so far, no looky-loos had climbed out of their cars. But that was just a matter of time.
More people began leaving the gym, using the side doors. She heard the deputy yelling, “Go back,” and watched as more people ignored her.
Bernie stayed by the bombed car, on the lookout for anyone who took a close interest in it, tried to pick up a souvenir or interfere with the firefighters. She’d warned people away from the flames and smoke and made sure no one drove off in the cars closest to the one that had been bombed. The chaos accelerated as more fans left the gym. When they saw the ambulance and fire truck, some people froze. Some began running. A little girl tripped, fell, and started to cry. A man scooped up the child and hurried away with her bundled in his arms. Bernie saw a woman whose foot was bleeding from where the sharp shrapnel had penetrated the thin sole of her shoe. A growing press of cars and trucks pulling out of their parking spots created a jam of vehicles and added engine fumes to the stench of the burning car. The deputy managed to hold most fans at the exit, at least for the moment. She heard the ambulance doors close. Then Lee came over to her. She noticed the blood on his jacket.
“That poor soul didn’t say a word. I hope he couldn’t feel anything either.” He pointed toward the gym. “Want me to stand at the side door and try to keep some order?”
“Good idea.”
“Whatever you want, ma’am.”
It wouldn’t be long, she hoped, before the FBI team arrived from Farmington, half an hour to the east. They’d secure the scene and do a thorough investigation in the morning. If he was available, the FBI contact would be Jerry Cordova, she figured, the agent based in Albuquerque who spent a lot of time in Farmington and Gallup these days. A smart guy. Maybe a little too fond of himself, but a solid, professional cop.
More flashing lights in the distance now caught her eye. Another Navajo officer, maybe, or the New Mexico State Police. She heard horns honking, an uncommon sound on the reservation.
Then she saw a man bend down to pick up something in the parking lot.
“Hey, don’t touch that. Leave whatever that is alone.”
He stood straight, startled.
“I’m a cop.”
He laughed, “Yeah, sure. And I’m the reincarnation of Muhammad Ali.”
Bernie walked closer. “What do you have there?”
He opened his fist and showed her a bent piece of rusted metal. She showed him her ID.
“Put it down and get back in the gym.”
He tossed the metal down and took off, running away from her farther into the parking lot.
She should have made Sam guard the bombed car, she thought. With his uniform and height he would have gotten more respect out here than she could. Now, one of the rent-a-cops, Larry, was running toward the ambulance team. After a brief conversation, attendants went with him back into the building. Meanwhile, a dozen more fans left.
Officer Sam walked up to her.
“It’s hopeless keeping people in—you try it.”
She looked at him, speechless.
Sam stood a little straighter. “Just so you know, I called a tow company. Some of these vehicles down here aren’t drivable.”
“What are you thinking? The ones closest to the target can’t be moved until they get checked for bomb fragments.”
“Who made you God?” He glared at her for a moment, then walked back to the gym.
The New Mexico State Police arrived, and a few minutes later a black sedan with flashing lights glided through the crowd. She recognized the car. Cordova in his usual style. She sighed with relief. There had been tension among the FBI and the Indian cops in the past, in her mentor Lieutenant Leaphorn’s heyday. Some ill feelings undoubtedly remained, but she respected Cordova. And she knew he’d take charge.
She watched him park far from the bombed car, climb out, and put on his protective vest with FBI panels front and back. It made her aware, again, that she was out of uniform. He trotted up to her, his badge on a cord around his neck, all business.
“Fill me in.”
Bernie told him everything she knew about the explosion and the aftermath. It didn’t take long. “When I came out of the gym, I didn’t see anyone running away or any vehicles driving off. I called it in. The rookie showed up, and I went back into the building to get the rent-a-cops and a volunteer to keep the spectators calm. Or try to.”
Cordova said, “Did you ask security if they noticed anything?”
“No.” She should have, she realized, but that could come later. “There’s more.”
She told him about the pack of teenagers who had ignored her and run off in different directions. She told him about the victim. “The ambulance left about five minutes ago. He was alive then.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Male. Maybe five eight, one-seventy pounds. It looked like he had on some sort of brown jacket.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not to me. A volunteer stayed with the victim until the ambulance got here.”
“Who was that?”
“An army medic who came late to the game.” She thought a moment and conjured up his name. “Byrum Lee. I have his info.”
“Did you find a cell phone on the injured guy?”
“I didn’t search him.” Another mistake, she realized.
She noticed Cordova looking at her, realizing she was out of uniform.”Why are you here, Manuelito? Just lucky?”
“I came for the basketball. This is a big game.”
“So who won?”
“I don’t know.”