Nightwing by Martin Cruz Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

He has full authority to travel the reservation, and to call on the assistance of all officers of the reservation in conjunction with his survey.” The letterhead had an embossed seal of a sun, mountains, and crossed sheaves of corn. It was signed by “Walker Chee, Chairman of the Navajo Tribal Council.”
    “I have more identification if you want it.” Paine locked his case.
    “I don’t want it. You’re on the wrong reservation.”
    “This is Hopi territory, I know, but—”
    “You haven’t explained anything yet. You were desecrating a body when I came in and you still haven’t told me why.”
    “The medical survey, as explained in—”
    “There’s no explanation in die letter. What kind of survey?”
    Paine showed no more than a slight social embarrassment. He took the letter back.
    “It’s very technical, Sheriff.”
    “Deputy.”
    “Deputy. I’m doing a serologic study of antibodies. By identifying antibodies in the blood samples of the local population, I’ll be able to identify diseases endemic to this area. Some diseases can’t be found any other way. It’s a complicated process and if I tried to explain it further, I doubt you’d understand. No layman would,” Paine added quickly. “All I can say is that this kind of study is necessary to raise the level of health here. I’ve been having the most trouble getting samples from the older people on the reservation and when I saw the body here I took the opportunity. I meant no discourtesy to the dead man or to you, believe me. If anything, I need your help.”
    Paine’s voice had risen to a shout as the drumming of the rain increased in volume, punctuated by kicks of thunder. Paine waited impatiently for the din to fade. Youngman liked the rain; anyone who lived in a desert would. More than that, the downpour forced Paine to be quiet. It forced him to drink his own rain of words. To Indians, words were a white weapon. Indians always found it interesting to watch a white try to be silent. Youngman folded his arms and waited. Silence could be informative.
    Paine maintained a broad smile. He was about thirty. His tan was a veneer marred only by a smudge of lost sleep around the eyes. A minute passed under the hard rain.
    Paine sighed. He had a big chest and heavy arms, light copper hairs down to the wrists, which were marked by curved scars. A bolt hit outside, probably on the Land Rover, Youngman thought. Paine only glanced aside at the crash. Confident and self-controlled. The storm continued to work to its climax. It wasn’t so much rain that opened desert seeds as violence. Paine’s smile had relaxed to amusement.
    The blue eyes were clear as pools, untroubled and unruffled. Totally neutral. There was no pigment in blue eyes, Youngman remembered. It was all refraction. Dead eyes, Abner called them. Used to call them. Paine held the mutual gaze patiently, still amused. Water ran under the floor boards of the hogan. Five more minutes passed while lightning concentrated on the meager elevation of Selwyn’s store.
    Selwyn’s generator faltered. The bulb in the hogan dimmed to the power of a cigarette, and at that level slowly pulsed with each feeble beat of the gas-powered generator. Youngman watched Paine’s eyes slide towards the body. Paine’s hands curled into fists and uncurled. The eyes slid back. Youngman saw the blue eyes shadow and the pupils narrow to points. He picked up his rifle. The bulb faded to a single orange filament.
    Youngman reached into Paine’s shirt pocket and took out the glassine envelope. Paine’s hand clamped around the deputy’s wrist.
    “I need it!” Paine shouted.
    The muzzle of Youngman’s rifle burrowed under Paine’s jaw. Paine rocked slightly back, his head against the wall. His fingers let go of Youngman, who screwed the barrel into the jaw.
    “You lied,” Youngman said in a flat voice. He was sure the other man understood. “I don’t know what about, but you lied.”
    He took two steps back