put down the notebook and focused on nothing but eating for the next few minutes. Maybe the savory meal would give her insights.
Next time the waiter came by, she asked for more water, instead of splurging on a refill on her Coke. Then went back to the notebook and looked at the numbers and letters again.
She remembered the lieutenant mentioning that a broken appointment had saved him a trip to Santa Fe. The brown envelope for Dr. Collingsworth now in her car was meant for a Santa Fe address—AIRC must be shorthand for his client.
Most of the pages between the mileage log and the end of the book were blank. On the next-to-last page, she noticed a slight difference in the quality and color of the paper. Leaphorn had carefully inserted two sheets from an earlier notebook. One page had six sets of initials and numbers, beginning with “AL RR42 B50A 87401.” On the next, what looked like initials were followed by more letters and numbers, with symbols, %, #, *, scattered among them. “AZ JLLB %1934.” Puzzling. Then it dawned on her. Passwords. The initials before them—AZ on the first, for example—probably indicated the sites. AZ for Amazon?
She took another bite of stew. Thought some more about the lieutenant’s codes, then let her brain rest as she finished lunch.
She’d promised to contact Louisa after seeing Leaphorn. But her call went immediately to voice mail, as though Louisa’s cell phone had been turned off. She left a brief message.
Then she reopened the notebook to the first page with the older paper. The grouping of five numbers could be a zip code. If it was, the 87 series meant New Mexico. “RR” could be “Rural Route,” and “B50A” a box number. That left “AL.” Did Leaphorn have a contact named Al? Albert? Alfonso? Or were they initials? Or was what she took for an L his version of the number 1? A business in Farmington called A1? Or did the L stand for another member of the Leaphorn family? Arnie Leaphorn? Agnes?
She called the Shiprock station and asked for Chee. Sandra, the office manager, told her Chee was out.
“Could you do a favor for me? Largo asked me to track down the lieutenant’s relatives, and I’m having some trouble. Can you do some reverse directory searches?”
“Sure,” Sandra said. “Is your computer down again?”
“No.” Bernie sipped her water, wishing it were Coke. “I’m in Santa Fe without it.” Bernie read off what she assumed was AL’s address, and as much as she could decipher from the other five sets of numbers and letters.
“You want to hold on, or shall I call you back?”
“Call me back.”
While she waited, Bernie turned to an earlier set of numbers, and by the time Sandra called, she’d figured out that “5–20 125/85 195” must mean that on May 20 the lieutenant’s blood pressure was in the normal range, although his weight was approaching 200 pounds. It didn’t help solve the crime or find the relatives, but at least her thought process tracked with the lieutenant’s.
Her phone vibrated, and she answered. “No luck on most of what you gave me,” Sandra said. “But the AL traces to a Farmington residence that belongs to an Austin Lee.” She gave Bernie the phone number.
Bernie called, disappointed that Lee didn’t answer. She left a voice mail explaining that she was a friend of Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn’s and needed to talk to Austin Lee or to someone in his family as soon as she could. She left her home number, too, and the number at the Shiprock substation. “Mr. Lee isn’t in any trouble,” Bernie added. If and when Lee called back, she would explore his connection to the lieutenant. Progress? She hoped so.
The waiter brought the check. She asked where she could find the closest post office.
“The closest, that would be on Pacheco Street, but that one’s closed because of a big roof leak. Well, not the leak exactly. Water shorted out the electricity in there.”
“So you’ve already had rain?”
“Last
Next time the waiter came by, she asked for more water, instead of splurging on a refill on her Coke. Then went back to the notebook and looked at the numbers and letters again.
She remembered the lieutenant mentioning that a broken appointment had saved him a trip to Santa Fe. The brown envelope for Dr. Collingsworth now in her car was meant for a Santa Fe address—AIRC must be shorthand for his client.
Most of the pages between the mileage log and the end of the book were blank. On the next-to-last page, she noticed a slight difference in the quality and color of the paper. Leaphorn had carefully inserted two sheets from an earlier notebook. One page had six sets of initials and numbers, beginning with “AL RR42 B50A 87401.” On the next, what looked like initials were followed by more letters and numbers, with symbols, %, #, *, scattered among them. “AZ JLLB %1934.” Puzzling. Then it dawned on her. Passwords. The initials before them—AZ on the first, for example—probably indicated the sites. AZ for Amazon?
She took another bite of stew. Thought some more about the lieutenant’s codes, then let her brain rest as she finished lunch.
She’d promised to contact Louisa after seeing Leaphorn. But her call went immediately to voice mail, as though Louisa’s cell phone had been turned off. She left a brief message.
Then she reopened the notebook to the first page with the older paper. The grouping of five numbers could be a zip code. If it was, the 87 series meant New Mexico. “RR” could be “Rural Route,” and “B50A” a box number. That left “AL.” Did Leaphorn have a contact named Al? Albert? Alfonso? Or were they initials? Or was what she took for an L his version of the number 1? A business in Farmington called A1? Or did the L stand for another member of the Leaphorn family? Arnie Leaphorn? Agnes?
She called the Shiprock station and asked for Chee. Sandra, the office manager, told her Chee was out.
“Could you do a favor for me? Largo asked me to track down the lieutenant’s relatives, and I’m having some trouble. Can you do some reverse directory searches?”
“Sure,” Sandra said. “Is your computer down again?”
“No.” Bernie sipped her water, wishing it were Coke. “I’m in Santa Fe without it.” Bernie read off what she assumed was AL’s address, and as much as she could decipher from the other five sets of numbers and letters.
“You want to hold on, or shall I call you back?”
“Call me back.”
While she waited, Bernie turned to an earlier set of numbers, and by the time Sandra called, she’d figured out that “5–20 125/85 195” must mean that on May 20 the lieutenant’s blood pressure was in the normal range, although his weight was approaching 200 pounds. It didn’t help solve the crime or find the relatives, but at least her thought process tracked with the lieutenant’s.
Her phone vibrated, and she answered. “No luck on most of what you gave me,” Sandra said. “But the AL traces to a Farmington residence that belongs to an Austin Lee.” She gave Bernie the phone number.
Bernie called, disappointed that Lee didn’t answer. She left a voice mail explaining that she was a friend of Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn’s and needed to talk to Austin Lee or to someone in his family as soon as she could. She left her home number, too, and the number at the Shiprock substation. “Mr. Lee isn’t in any trouble,” Bernie added. If and when Lee called back, she would explore his connection to the lieutenant. Progress? She hoped so.
The waiter brought the check. She asked where she could find the closest post office.
“The closest, that would be on Pacheco Street, but that one’s closed because of a big roof leak. Well, not the leak exactly. Water shorted out the electricity in there.”
“So you’ve already had rain?”
“Last
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