Thomas had no doubt Charlie would eventually tell him what was going on. Among the Navajo, close friends and family think they need to know even the tiniest details of each other’s lives. Thomas and Charlie had known one another since they were kids and Thomas could keep a secret—not to mention, he’d been there and saw Luca Tarango killed. “Where are you going to meet up with her?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’d like for it to be my choice and not hers.”
“You don’t trust her, do you?”
“She’s Luca Tarango’s wife—would you trust her?”
“No I guess not. The man killed a lot of people here on the reservation. You and me and Harley just missed being some of ‘em, too.” Thomas broke into a grin. “I’m free this afternoon. How about I tag along with you in case you need a little advice, or something?”
It was the something that bothered Charlie. Asking Thomas to go along was the farthest thing from his mind, but he didn’t have time to argue him out of it—that usually took some doing. “What is it …you looking for something to take your mind off things at home?”
“It’s been hard,” Thomas, admitted, “this thing with Paul has everyone on edge. Lucy has convinced herself Paul’s decided to take the long trail. As you well know, there’s nothing anyone can do about it, if that’s what has happened.
Charlie looked down thinking it had been a mistake, not trying harder to avoid his friend when he first saw him coming. Getting rid of him now would be a long and likely futile, exercise, but maybe that’s why he let him in on as much as he already had—maybe he did want a little company. He raised his head finally and nodded. “You suit yourself, hastiin, but don’t blame me if you wind up wasting what could otherwise turn out to be a nice afternoon.”
“I’ll meet you at your office…and Charlie, don’t try leaving without me.”
Charlie waved him off, but with the niggling little thought he’d just made a decision he would come to regret.
On his return to the office the Tribal Investigator went the long way around to see if Billy Red Clay was still at his desk. He wasn’t. By the time Charlie pulled up in front of Legal Services, Thomas Begay’s diesel truck was already sitting empty in the parking lot alongside a beat up old pickup with Colorado plates. Charlie’s first thought was, maybe he ought to have given Gwen a heads up.
As he came through the reception area, Charlie was met by the secretary, eyes wide with questions as she held up a warning finger but seemed unable to get the words out of her mouth.
Charlie nodded as he blew past the frustrated woman without comment—he already had a pretty good idea. Looking toward his office he could see three people gathered around his desk and they did not look happy.
Thomas Begay was leaning against the wall, the man across from him fixed in a gimlet-eyed stare. The man seemed frozen in place—a sheep held in the grip of a Border collie’s eye. The woman by his side gazed out the window seeming somewhat amused by her companion’s predicament.
Though surprised to see them, Charlie Yazzie knew instantly who they were and was faced with the realization he’d been outflanked. As Tressa turned his way, he couldn’t help noticing her uncommonly good looks. Her face striking enough to catch the average man off guard and even reveal embarrassing chinks in his loyalties.
Tressa Tarango took her cue from the flicker of recognition on Thomas’s face when Charlie came in and spoke first.
“Charlie Yazzie. I’m Luca Tarango’s wife. I’ve come to take what there is left of my husband back to Mexico.” Her voice was clear her tone amiable enough to counter suspicion. Holding out a wrinkled letter, she smiled. Charlie recognized the paper as the one he’d sent the woman after Luca Tarango’s death. She nodded toward Thomas Begay. “Your friend here said you’d be along shortly. I hope you don’t mind we decided to wait.”
Thomas moved aside, releasing Little Abe from his hypnotic scrutiny, and repositioned himself to allow Charlie back behind his desk.
“I assume everyone has introduced themselves?” The investigator asked dryly, though looking only at Thomas.
Thomas shook his head, “No, I was just getting around to that.”
Charlie reached across the desk to shake hands with the woman, and then turned to the man beside her, Abraham still appeared somewhat befuddled by his encounter with Thomas Begay.
Charlie offered his hand to Abraham, “Mr. Garza I’m guessing?” He knew this might sound a little formal but thought it would please Little Abe and he was not far off. He made a mental note for future reference. Charlie indicated Thomas with a glance and introduced him as well. The tall Navajo nodded to both people before murmuring something no one quite caught.
While Tressa Tarango looked a bit weary she had obviously taken some pains with her appearance that morning, her natural good looks still radiant despite her last few harrowing days. The woman’s aura of confidence and straightforward manner added a certain something, and Charlie couldn’t help being impressed. Tressa was not at all what he’d envisioned. For one thing she had obviously made a serious effort to learn English during her time in Colorado. He remembered Luca Tarango’s broken attempts at the language and marveled now at how well this woman expressed herself. There was still an accent, of course, but she sounded more Americanized than he’d expected. He was, of course, unaware Hector Espinosa demanded everyone under his roof to learn and continue to improve their new language. It was the way forward, he told them, and it was good for business.
Tressa studied the Investigator—the person who first took the trouble to notify her of Luca’s death. He was younger than she’d imagined though still older than her and not so officious as she might have thought, despite the title on his letterhead. “I have a few questions about Luca’s death.”
Here it comes, Charlie thought, but remained silent and waited. It was her can of worms and he’d let her open it her own way.
“I’d like to know how he died, and what brought him to it?” Tressa already had a pretty good idea—her husband’s business was not unknown to her—but still she wanted to hear it from someone with firsthand knowledge.
Charlie was considering how he might answer and still retain some anonymity for those involved. He didn’t get the chance. Thomas Begay stood up, and leaning menacingly toward the woman, said bluntly, “Your husband killed some good people here on the reservation—a good many in fact, considering how few we are to begin with.” Thomas knew it wasn’t his place to confront this woman but was thinking of the young girl with the sheep and her old grandmother who swore undying vengeance. That girl wasn’t the first to be murdered in Luca Tarango’s rampage nor had she proved to be the last.
Charlie frowned over at his friend, but when he turned back to the woman he fixed her with a look that carried little sympathy. His tone made it plain that he had no regrets when it came to Luca Tarango. “My friend here is right. Law enforcement did make an effort to bring your husband in alive but that proved impossible. From what I know of the man, he died pretty much as he lived.”
Tressa’s eyes flashed fire and Little Abe steeled himself and made ready for anything. He watched Thomas for some hint of the man’s intentions. In his view, Thomas was the one to watch.
Tressa’s uncles hadn’t told her…if even they knew…what sort of havoc Luca had visited on the Navajo people. Put to the test of so relentless a pursuit, and by people he’d previously perceived to lack his skills, had only served to increase the fugitive’s frustration and then his rage, which he’d focused on whomever crossed his path. Eventually, however, he came to see his pursuers for what they really were—much like himself when pushed to the edge of endurance—and this had infuriated him even more.
Charlie gave Thomas a warning glance, accompanied by a shove of his chin to indicate Little Abe should be taken outside so Charlie might speak to the woman in private. The Investigator rose slightly from his seat and leaned across the desk, thinking he would take the psychological high ground.
&
nbsp; But with a glint in her eye, Tressa edged her hand toward a bulge in her jacket pocket, a thing the investigator had not previously noticed.
Charlie quickly sat himself back down. Clearly, Tressa Tarango was unwilling to endure the slightest intimidation. She had, apparently, had her fill of it since coming to the U.S.
“There are people looking for you,” Charlie finally offered, now on the defensive.”
The woman didn’t change expression. “What people?” She moved her hand closer to the pocket.
“Well, there seems to be an assortment—some of whom mean you no good.” Charlie edged his own hand toward a desk drawer. There wasn’t a weapon there, but he didn’t want her to think him totally defenseless. He made yet another mental note, this time to bring up office security at the next interagency meeting. The thought had never before crossed his mind; he’d never considered Legal Services the sort of office that need consider security of this sort.
A flicker of interest crossed her face. “Who’s looking for us?”
“Well, for starters, it seems the disappearance of Carlos and Hector Espinosa has caused quite a stir down in Sinaloa. It’s thought they have people on the way up as we speak…or maybe they’re already here.” Charlie raised an eyebrow and his voice at the same time, “You did know the Espinosas were missing, didn’t you?” He attempted a more ominous tone as he declared, “These people from Sinaloa are not the sort you would want to have find you…or Abraham Garza either… I’m sure Mr. Garza would agree.”
Her eyes went dead. “Who else?”
Charlie studied a moment before deciding he might as well push his advantage. “There is a government agency interested in your whereabouts.” He watched and saw he now had her full attention.
Tressa didn’t ask what agency; secretly guessing it was la migra he was referring to. Immigration was the only agency she was aware of who might have an interest in her and Abraham. But, then, la migra was looking for everyone she knew; that was no big deal. Both she and Little Abe had green cards obtained for them by Hector Espinosa, he was not so foolish a man as to risk so much for so little a trouble as documenting his employees. Whether or not the cards were genuine was another matter altogether. “So, why haven’t you turned us in?” This was said in so casual a matter as to indicate she cared little, one way or the other.
“Oh, I will. I believe it would be in your best interest and, at this point in time, might even be your only option.” Charlie was bluffing, of course, the DEA wouldn’t want these people to fall into the hands of Immigration. From their viewpoint that could only complicate things.
“Tell me, Charlie Yazzie. How could being turned into Immigration be good for us?” Tressa had the hint of a smile tugging at a corner of her mouth, obviously on to him now.
Charlie let her go on thinking it was Immigration looking for them—which by now was probably true anyway. “Well, it might keep you from getting killed for one thing, or spending a long time in jail.” Charlie’s tone became more insistent. “You might want to talk to your friend Abraham before making a decision. If he is as well connected as I’ve heard, he might have a different slant on the thing.”
“Little Abe? Connected?” She laughed. “He’s a busboy and a dishwasher. Who would he be connected to? He has no connections, as you call it. Not in Sinaloa…or anywhere else that I know of.” Now she was the one bluffing and Charlie knew it.
“Hmm…” he smiled, “Maybe I was misinformed…”
Charlie’s demeanor worried her. Even so small a show of confidence as this, caused Tressa doubt. Maybe he does know something, she thought, he obviously knows more about the two of us than I expected.” In the past, Tressa had often been misinformed by men with agendas and had, of necessity, come to leave herself a little leeway when dealing with them. She somehow doubted this Indian would turn her and Little Abe over to Immigration. Even if he did, it would likely prove a temporary inconvenience, and in the end, most likely come to nothing. She and Abe were, after all, trying to get back into Mexico. None of this, however, appeared to be getting her any closer to information regarding her husband’s death. She was beginning to worry she might never find who killed him, and that was unacceptable. Taking revenge on Luca’s killer was an integral part of her plan. If this investigator was telling the truth, she now had to worry about someone else on their trail. She thought they’d gotten away clean and might be able to make it to Mexico in time for the great celebration of the Day of the Dead. Those few days preceding the holiday were some of the busiest crossing times of the year, the very best time to venture across the frontera, and with the least amount of trouble, too.
“Maybe you could help me with getting my husband’s remains ready to take back. We’ll need papers, I think…should we get stopped here in the States, and maybe at the border, too…or so I’m told.” Tressa gave him a look. “You know how it is at the border?”
“I can only imagine.” Charlie could only imagine, he’d never been closer to the border than a couple of hundred miles.
As far as going back into Mexico, Tressa knew it wouldn’t be anywhere near as complicated as getting out of Mexico had been, that was for sure. One major stumbling block—the papers for the truck—were already in order and safe in the glove box. Old Sancho Mariano had seen to that, he had, in fact, pretty much thought of everything. Tressa was well aware, even for a person of moderate means, there were ways around Mexican Customs, minor officials would pose little problem.
They wouldn’t be the only ones taking a deceased family member back to Mexico for Dia de los Muertos. It was a common enough request from older family members, even from those who’d spent many years in the U.S. They still wanted to be buried at home among their own people and childhood friends. There was some inimitable lure in those dusty little plots where they might do proper penance for whatever sins they’d incurred.
Charlie was ready for this aspect of her visit. “I’ve taken the trouble to speak to the Medical Examiner,” he said, passing her the Coroner’s card, “He tells me there is no longer what we would call a potter’s field in San Juan County. There is no designated place for the burial of indigents and criminals. Apparently, when next of kin cannot be located within a reasonable period of time the remains are now by law, cremated.” Charlie saw a shadow cross the woman’s face and quickly added, “But, the ashes are kept for up to two years as a precaution against late claimants.” He nearly smiled before catching himself, “You’re lucky. Luca’s ashes were scheduled for disposal in less than a month’s time. And the Coroner’s Office still has his personal effects on hand as well. He’ll turn those over to you as well.”
Tressa closed her eyes but was unable to keep her lower lip from trembling. “Where are they now…Luca’s ashes, I mean?”
“The cremains are stored by a local Farmington funeral home.” The investigator’s voice took on a kinder tone as he saw the bewildered look on the woman’s face. “It’s probably better this way. I’m told they will come in a small sealed box with all the official data printed on the outside. Overall, they will be much easier to deal with. All you will need in order to claim them is a release form from the Medical Examiner’s Office.” Charlie hesitated for a moment. “I suppose I could witness for you if need be.” He fidgeted in his chair. “I was present at the death and recovered the letter you sent him.” Charlie probably wouldn’t have revealed that information had she not already been aware it was he who informed her of Luca Tarango’s death…and, of her husband’s last words. The investigator had no intention of telling her more than this. He was not going to involve anyone else if he could help it.
“No…no one has to come with us,” Tressa declared. “I have our Mexican marriage license and my identification is all in order.” She looked in the investigator’s eyes and thought she saw some small hint of pity. “I am thankful for all you have done, but Little Abe and I can handle it from here.” She considered the investigator for a final moment and wondered fleetingly if it was
him who killed her husband. She intended to know, one way or the other, and before leaving for Nogales, too.
Charlie reached in his desk drawer and drew from a far corner a single crystal on a leather thong. When he looked up he saw Tressa’s hand inside her pocket, her eyes now cold and watchful. Startled, he quickly pushed the talisman across the desk. “This was your husband’s. I’ve kept it here in case you came for his remains. I didn’t want to risk someone losing it.”
Tressa picked up the leather string and held the crystal to the light. “What is it?”
“In your husband’s last moments he held this crystal and recited some sort of chant or incantation. When he finished, he asked if I could still see him. He seemed to think this might make him invisible.”
Tressa gave a fierce shake of her head. “Luca didn’t believe in anything, not religion, or anything else. He believed only in his own abilities. Why would he trust in this crystal?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Charlie answered honestly. “But I’ve heard desperate people sometimes put their faith in desperate solutions.”
“You mean he still didn’t pray to God even in those last moments?”
“No. There was only the amulet and the incantation, as far as I could understand. We think a witch-woman gave it to him. The chant sounded like Piute…the witch was half-Piute. Your husband killed her, too.”
A now more subdued Tressa put the amulet in her pocket and stood to go. The investigator gave her directions to the Coroner’s Office in Farmington and pointed out the address on the card. “The people there will give you the proper paperwork and direct you to where the ashes are stored. The funeral home may request you reimburse them for certain ‘extra’ costs, but if you stand firm they won’t push it and you should not have to pay anything. Their contract fee has been paid by the state…six hundred dollars for this sort of thing, if I remember right.” He took on a kinder tone, “Nothing more should be required of you.” He nodded to emphasize his point. “Have them call me if you run into trouble.” Charlie hesitated as he watched her start for the door. “Tressa…the government agency that’s looking for you and Abraham, is not Immigration.”
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