A Thief of Time
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
At a moonlit Indian ruin—where "thieves of time" ravage sacred ground in the name of profit—a noted anthropologist vanishes while on the verge of making a startling, history-altering discovery. At an ancient burial site, amid stolen goods and desecrated bones, two corpses are discovered, shot by bullets fitting the gun of the missing scientist.
There are modern mysteries buried in despoiled ancient places. And as blood flows all too freely, Navajo Tribal Policemen Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee must plunge into the past to unearth an astonishing truth and a cold-hearted killer.
popular. He wondered about her. He wondered about a woman lawyer. To be more precise, he wondered if Janet Pete, or any woman, could fill the gap Mary Landon seemed to be leaving in his life. That was Friday evening. Saturday morning he drove the Buick down to Bernie Tso’s garage and put it on the rack. Bernie was not impressed. “Fourteen thousand miles, my ass,” Bernie said. “Look at the tread on those tires. And here.” Bernie rattled the universal joint. “Arizona don’t have a law about
FULL DARKNESS CAME LATE on this dry autumn Saturday. The sun was far below the western horizon but a layer of high, thin cirrus clouds still received the slanting light and reflected it, red now, down upon the ocean of sagebrush north of Nageezi Trading Post. It tinted the patched canvas of Slick Nakai’s revival tent from faded tan to a doubtful rose and the complexion of Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn from dark brown to dark red. From a lifetime of habit, Leaphorn had parked his pickup a little away
inevitable Kokopelli, his humped shape bent, his flute pointed almost at the ground; a heron flying; a heron standing; the zigzag band of pigment representing a snake. Then she noticed the horse. It stood well to the left of the great baseball shaman, mostly in moon shadow. A Navajo addition, obviously, since the Anasazi had vanished three hundred years before the Spanish came on their steeds. It was a stylized horse, with a barrel body and straight legs, but without the typical Navajo tendency
place. But I want you to remember something about Huerfano Mesa. Just close your eyes now and remember how that holy place looked the last time you saw it. Truck road runs up there. It’s got radio towers built all over the top of it. Oil companies built ’em. Whole forest of those antennae all along the top of our holy place.” Nakai was shouting now, emphasizing each word with a downward sweep of his fist. “I can’t pray to the mountain no more,” he shouted. “Not after the white man built all over
“everything he says is true. Her business is pots. So she’ll have a bunch of ’em here. So what the hell are we looking for?” Leaphorn shrugged. “I think we just look,” he said. “We find what we find. Then we think about it.” They found more boxes of potsherds in the closet, each shard bearing a label that seemed to identify it with the place it had been found. They found an album of photographs, many of them snapshots of people who seemed to be anthropologists working at digs. There were three