One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 4

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Detective Sétıpímo Marıdaré drank half his cup of coffee and clunked it down on his kitchen table. A few drops of the dark liquid splashed over the rim onto his sheets of notepaper. Sétıpímo absentmindedly blotted the drops with the heel of his hand.

The Enforcer had been shot at close range, which seemed to indicate he had been surprised, which would preclude the two rifles as murder weapons. Which left the handgun. The fingerprints on the semiautomatic belonged to one Zhíno Zhudıro of Narakamíníkı, who lived at the same address as Fírí Parızada, who owned the Sonla auto.

Pí‘oro’s story, as related by Lieutenant Nıgédazo, was checking out.

Sétıpímo lifted his breakfast plate and pulled papers out from underneath. He found his notes from his Nıgédazo interview and scanned them with one chubby finger.

Except for the broken legs.

The detective stabbed the last of a sausage link with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth.

Why on Rívorí would Pí‘oro lie about the foreign kid’s broken legs? And why, for that matter, would the kid claim his legs had been healed via miracle?

He swigged the remainder of his coffee, washing down the sausage.

Since Bhanar Narak had no twin, Nıgédazo had to be mistaken about his legs being broken. There was no other logical explanation. True, rumors had floated around the town for years about Vata’s supposed healing powers, but just because she was a devout worshipper of Névazhíno and helped people often, it didn’t mean there was any truth to the stories. Magical healings like that just didn’t happen. Narak’s claim of a miracle must be caused by stress and panic.

“Or the fact that he’s a foreigner and therefore can’t speak Sarıman worth gooseshit.” Which left the kid’s words open to Nigédazo’s mistranslation.

Sétıpímo had yet to talk directly to Narak, but he had seen him on television news reports before--far more often than he’d have liked.

The pseudo-emperor was probably innocent, but the detective certainly wanted to talk to him this morning. See if he’d calmed down and had a chance to rethink his miracle claim, or if he’d even made the claim at all.

Sétıpímo set his empty plate on a stack of file folders so he could spread out his notes. He pulled his tobacco can from his pocket and pinched a wad.

If Zhudıro had shot the Enforcer, he was probably the man stealing the auto from Tamé’s parking lot. But why would he need to steal an auto when he already had one? Why would he and Parızada have separated?

The detective shoved the wad of tobacco in his mouth and started chewing.

And why the plagues did they shoot at Narak?

Sétıpímo had a lot of answers, but he had even more questions piling up every minute. Zhudıro had to have been worried about something. Sétıpímo was missing a big piece to this puzzle.

It was a pity the Sonla’s trunk release lever was broken. They hadn’t been able to force the lid up, either. Perhaps an important clue lay inside.

Hopefully Tamé had gotten the autos to the precinct headquarters already. Knowing Tamé, however, it was more likely the towtruck driver was still in bed, sleeping off a hangover.

Sétıpímo spat into his spittoon with a dull clang. The sun was almost up. It was time for everyone else to arise, as well.

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