Ella looked back at the point where the truck had disappeared. Rain was already softening and obliterating the pickup's tracks. Soon they'd be gone. She'd have no evidence and no witnesses.
Things just didn't add up. How had the truck managed to hurtle those arroyos? They were no more than two feet deep, but they should have been sufficient to stop any normal vehicle going that fast. And where had it gone so quickly?
She tried to make some sense of it. He knew which path to take. She was dealing with someone who knew the land like the back of his hand. The darkness and her own imagination had conspired against her. That was all. Checking her pistol and gaining confidence from the feel of cold, dry steel, Ella continued toward Loretta's hogan.
By the time she arrived, she was thoroughly cold, wet, and tired. The hogan, illuminated from within by the flickering light of a kerosene lamp, looked inviting, and more to the point, safe. Except for the dark pickup parked near the door. Warily, Ella edged closer, trying to make sure it wasn't the same vehicle that had tried to run her over.
A tall man stepped down out of the truck. Ella recognized Blalock's bulky shape and stiff-backed stance. She cursed the jerk in the truck, cursed herself for being distracted by stories of skinwalkers. He had beaten her to the punch. Then she smiled. He hadn't been invited in yet. She still had a chance to speak to Loretta first. Ella went up to Blalock. "How did you find this place?"
"Good investigating," he answered. "But it took hours to drive here." He gave her a speculative look. "Jeez, Clah, you look like something the cat barfed up."
Ella glanced down at herself. From her knees down, she was covered with mud and plant debris. In contrast, Blalock looked like a recruiting poster despite the rain: water beaded up and rolled off his coat. Probably waterproofed. His hair seemed to curl rather than plaster itself down on his scalp as the heavy drizzle continued.
"You're annoying," she answered at last.
He grinned. "Yeah, I've been told that before."
"How come you're waiting out here? You didn't do that at my mother's place."
"Your mother lives in a regular house, not something traditional like this hogan," he said, then paused. "I have learned a few things since I took up this post. Besides, the police chief warned me that if I kept walking up to doors
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around here, someone was likely to shoot me with a deer rifle."
Ella bit her lip to keep from smiling. It sounded like her father-in-law had managed to penetrate Blalock's devotion to procedure with a new idea. "He's right. You have to honor our customs, particularly during times like these."
"Yeah, well I've been waiting for forty minutes."
"They know you're here. If they haven't come out, they don't want to talk to you."
"That I figured. How about a trade, Ella?"
"I know you want me to get you in," she said, "but what are you willing to give me in exchange?"
"What do you want?"
"A look at the M.E.'s report."
He considered it. "It'll have to stay between us."
"Okay by me."
"You've got yourself a deal."
"Stay here. I'll signal you in a few minutes." She walked around the car and stood in plain view of the eastern-facing doorway to the hogan. An old, heavy-set woman wearing a long red skirt and a tan, long-sleeved blouse appeared at the entrance, pushing aside the heavy blanket that served as a door. She waved at Ella, gesturing for her to come in.
Ella accepted the invitation briskly, glad to get out of the cold rain. It was warm inside the hogan, and food had been set out on a blanket. A small, damp circle of ground directly below the smoke hole was the only place moisture had penetrated the sturdy log and mud structure.
She remembered to head to the left. The south end of a hogan traditionally "belong" to the women, and Loretta and her grandmother were seated there. Loretta's brother, the only other person in the hogan, nodded silently to Ella
but didn't move from where he was seated, just north of the entrance.
Loretta spoke first. "We've finished eating, but there's still some of the fry bread and stew grandmother brought. Help yourself to whatever you like." Loretta was young, perhaps twenty years old, and had pretty, almost Asian features. Her hair was arranged in one large braid down her back and she was dressed in a traditionally styled burgundy velveteen dress and deerskin boots.
Ella nodded in thanks, then spooned a small helping of mutton stew onto a plate. It would help take the chill out of her. She sat down on the dirt floor and looked at her sister-in-law and her family. Loretta was by nature outgoing and friendly, but even to Ella it was clear that tonight she was just going through the motions. She had the haggard look of a deer among wolves.
Ella studied everything, from prayer sticks she felt certain her brother had made to the sacred pollen scattered about for protection. A Winchester thirty-thirty rested across Loretta's brother's jeans-clad hip.
"Is FB-Eyes still out there?" Loretta asked, explaining the emphasis with a slow blink.
Ella nodded. Strangers and friends, Navajo or non-Navajo, were often given nicknames by the Dineh. "He would like a chance to ask you some questions."
"My husband, your brother, is not the man the police should be looking for." Loretta's voice held a hard edge. Ella knew at once that her sister-in-law stood firm in her belief that Clifford was innocent.
"I know." Ella finished the last of the stew and set the plate aside. The food had revitalized her. "If you talk to FB-Eyes, maybe he'll see that he's wasting time looking for my brother while the real killer escapes."
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"Then I'll speak to him/' Loretta said, her eyes tired.
Her brother's head snapped around and he glared at the women. "You're going to invite him in? He's not your husband's friend. He believes all the lies planted by our enemies."
"No," Ella countered in a soft voice. "He's after the truth, like I am. But to find it, he has to recognize the right trail. That often means taking a wrong turn now and then." She watched the heavy-set Navajo man, with his short-cropped jet black hair, measure her words.
Making up his mind at last, he shook his head, then turned to Loretta. "Little sister, you shouldn't speak to this man. He'll only make things much worse for all of us."
Loretta turned to her grandmother, who sat quietly, staring toward the entrance. They were avoiding the use of names in accordance with tradition. Names had power, and to use them often would wear them out.
Loretta shifted her gaze back to Ella. "If I have you invite FB-Eyes in, you'll be responsible for his behavior. Do you accept that?"
Ella nodded. "Before I call him, do you know where my brother is?"
"No, of course not. He would never place us in danger by telling us that. You know the way he is."
She nodded, accepting the undeniable truth. Hataaliis, even under normal circumstances, made secrecy second nature. They claimed to be particularly sensitive to the risks knowledge often carried. Information about rituals, gained inadvertently by outsiders, had sometimes even resulted in death, so Ella had never underestimated the power belief alone could have over people. The unknown always commanded more respect and fear than the known.
Ella went to the entrance of the hogan, pushed aside the
damp blanket, and waved at Blalock. If he did anything to offend anyone, she'd kick him out and worry about the M.E/s report later.
As Blalock entered, he glanced warily at the armed man.
"This is their home/' Ella warned in a whisper. "You're a guest. Chill/' She motioned him toward the north end, and fortunately the man complied.
Following Ella's lead, Blalock reluctantly lowered himself to the dirt floor. "Ma'am, I need to find your husband. Your father-in-law's death was a ritual killing of some kind. If your husband has knowledge of why it was done that way, he could be in a great deal of danger."
"I know nothing of the murder, and I assure you I don't know whe
re my husband is."
"You were with him when he ran from the police. Can you tell me why he did that?"
"My husband has many enemies, as did his father. I suggest you search there for the answers."
"Where? Who are your husband's enemies?"
"Those whose ways seek to harm the tribe," Loretta said flatly.
Ella looked at Blalock, wondering if the implication had occurred to him as well. Loretta could have been referring to a third faction, those not allied with Clifford or their father. A statement like Loretta's raised more questions than it answered.
"Can you be more specific?" Blalock insisted.
"My husband wanted to teach our people the old ways. There are some who say that that doesn't matter anymore, that clinging to the past only holds us back. It's within that faction that I believe you'll find the murderer."
"But that's the side your father-in-law was on. He had
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no quarrel with them. Why would they kill him?" Blalock persevered.
"That group is prepared to do whatever it takes to reach their goals. They would sacrifice one of their own if they believed it would discredit those of us who stand against them."
Ella studied Loretta speculatively, wondering how broad an interpretation to give her accusation. Instinct was telling her that the same might be said of either side.
Blalock's expression shifted to one of open skepticism. "Are you familiar with the silver concha belt your husband frequently wore? I understand he made it himself."
"Yes, he did. Silversmithing is certainly not a crime. Why do you ask?"
"A silver concha etched with what several people identified as his mark was found near the body. Can you explain how it got there?"
Ella felt the blood drain from her face and her mouth go completely dry. Could Clifford have had something to do with the murder? She glanced at Loretta, hoping she'd have an answer that would satisfy Blalock.
To her credit, Loretta didn't even flinch. "I think it would be obvious. Someone is trying to frame my husband."
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ened those in the hogan. To speak of a powerful evil was to invite it into your life. Ella was frustrated that superstition was interfering with the investigation, but she knew pushing further now would accomplish nothing. She tried to apologize to Loretta.
"Sister-in-law, have you become so much a part of their world that you vouch for them so easily?" Loretta asked.
When she tried to answer, Ella found that the words lodged in her throat. As Ella walked outside, Loretta moved to stand beside her brother, blocking the doorway. Ella knew with certainty she wouldn't be welcomed back.
She joined Blalock by his truck. "You blew it big-time— for both of us. You're not that new around here. You know better than to pull a stunt like that!"
"I was getting non-answers, and you know it. I had to press the issue," Blalock complained.
"How do you figure you're going to get anywhere by ignoring our ways?"
"Oh, please. I handled her with kid gloves."
"You insulted her, and everyone in there. And since I made the mistake of vouching for you, your actions fall on me too."
"I'm investigating a ritual murder. I need to know what motivated the killer."
"Let me see the M.E.'s report."
"Not here. I prefer someplace out of rifle range of this hut. There's a diner along the main highway, just off the reservation." He motioned her inside his vehicle.
"You want to go to my mother's place instead of the diner? The ride's bumpy, but it's a lot closer."
"No offense, but I prefer neutral ground, where I won't have to mince my words or be politically correct," Blalock grumbled.
Moments later they were under way. ''It's a good thing my pickup has four-wheel drive. The ruts in the road are the size of the Grand Canyon." Blalock paused. "This is your home, Clah, not mine. You want to love it, ruts and all, that's fine. All I want is a murderer brought to justice. How about giving me something to go on? This is no ordinary heat-of-passion murder. There are things going on here that nobody, not even the chief of police, will talk about."
"You're dealing with ancient taboos, things that are hard for any of us to speak openly about."
"Oh, come on," he said incredulously. "The people back in that hogan might have that problem, but you don't. I was told you don't even speak Navajo, that you're more Anglo than the Anglos. That's practically a quote."
"From my father-in-law?"
"So, Randall Clah, the chief of police, is your father-in-law?" he observed. "I wondered about the last names."
"I married his son right after high school graduation. Then Eugene went into the Army Rangers. After months of surviving dangerous training exercises, he died in a traffic accident off base."
"Tough break." Blalock lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
Ella stared into the darkness. Eugene's death had left her feeling so lost! Yet working through that time of pain, she'd found a new direction for her life, and strength she'd never thought she had. Something good had sprung from the bitter ashes. She hoped her mother would eventually be able to put her own life back together again, but she held little hope that anything positive would come from her father's death.
Blalock cursed as the pickup bounced in and out of a particularly nasty hole. "So much for the suspension."
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"Slow down or we'll end up walking."
He eased off the accelerator. "Tell me something. If your brother is so traditional, why does he have an ordinary name like Clifford? And why the hell doesn't anyone ever call him Cliff? In fact, one thing I've noticed around here is that people may use nicknames, but they never shorten a proper name."
"Names are believed to have power. Why shorten them? In fact, that's why so many have nicknames. You avoid using a name whenever you can."
"But why 'Clifford'?" he insisted.
"That's his legal name. War names are secret and are considered to have a special power of their own. Using Clifford in public makes life easier."
Blalock lapsed into thought as the miles stretched out. "This is the worst post I've ever had," he commented at last. "To make things even worse, I get the idea that they've never thought much of the feds around here."
"That's true," Ella admitted. "My father-in-law was really annoyed when I joined the bureau. But let's face it, very few local authorities welcome FBI agents with open arms, regardless of the community."
"It's more than that. I'm also a white man, or as Clah says, an 'Anglo.'"
"That's certainly one factor working against you," she conceded.
Blalock leaned forward as they came to a low spot crisscrossed with deeply cut channels. "Keep an eye out, will ya? I don't want to drive headlong into one of these ar-royos."
Ella strained to see ahead. The moon had gone behind the clouds, leaving them surrounded by thick blackness.
The headlights sliced narrow, momentary paths through it, but the darkness eventually won, sealing itself as they passed.
The cry of an owl filled the night, unnerving her. 'To a traditional Navajo that signifies death/' she muttered.
"Only if you happen to be a mouse/' Blalock countered.
She considered telling him about the animal she'd seen earlier, and the truck that had come from nowhere and disappeared. Some people would claim that run-in had supernatural implications, but Ella just wondered how the stunt had been pulled off.
She was weighing what, if anything, to tell him when the distinctive crack of a rifle shot shattered the stillness of the night. Simultaneously the windshield flowered into a spiderweb pattern, a nickel-sized hole in the center.
Blalock uttered a single expletive, then swerved and braked suddenly, slamming them against their seat belts. Throwing open their doors, they both dove into the damp cover of a stand of tall brush.
Ella, pistol in hand, peered out carefully and noted the bullet had gone clear through the
cab and out the rear window. "Did you see where it came from?"
"No. But he can't be too far away. The sound reached us about the same time as the bullet did."
She looked into the blackness without much hope of seeing anyone. "Well, at least the vehicle isn't disabled."
"We're damn lucky." He peered into the darkness, muttered a curse. "I can't see anything. I'm calling this in and getting my rifle. There's a nightscope on it."
"Turn off the dome light first."
"I'm not a rookie, Clah."
As Blalock carefully made his way into the truck, Ella
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sharpened her senses. The moonlight filtering through the clouds was barely enough to allow her to make out even the largest obstacles around them. She listened carefully for any sounds that didn't belong, but all she could hear was an occasional distant rumble of thunder.
Blalock joined her again, rifle under his arm. "I asked for assistance, but it'll take officers an hour to find us. I couldn't give them very good directions." He slowly scanned the area with his nightscope. "If he's still out there, I don't see him."
"He's probably long gone. I don't believe the attack was meant to kill either of us. Only one shot was fired, and it passed between us."
"Maybe the sniper just missed. Your relatives weren't too happy with me."
"Nor with me, but it's highly doubtful they could have made it out here ahead of us," she snapped. "Keep in mind that they were on foot."
"Maybe someone was in place already." After waiting for several minutes, they came out from cover and ran to the truck. Ella studied the bullet hole.
"If you were playing the odds, wouldn't you say I was the intended target?" Blalock asked. "I've made some enemies the past few years."
"Who knows?" she answered slowly. "I have my own enemies here."
"You think this might all be clan-related? Family ties seem to be strong on the reservation. Maybe two opposing clans are out to settle some score."
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