Ghost Medicine

by Aimée

  Ella swallowed hard. This was a skinwalker’s MO. She’d seen it before but usually at perverted ceremonial sites where Navajo witches had mutilated bodies stolen from their graves. This time, however, the skinwalker had also done the killing, which meant that trouble was only beginning.

  These secretive people distorted Navajo beliefs to generate fear among their targets, usually to intimidate and control members of the community. They were also skilled tricksters and often created illusions or magic tricks to demonstrate their “power.”

  Ella tried to focus on the physical evidence. Theories would wait till later. Despite the swelling and discoloration from maybe two days’ exposure to the elements, something about the man looked vaguely familiar to her.

  Silently giving thanks that the last couple of days had been a little cooler due to the cloudy weather, she climbed up on the running board, canted her head, and looked into the dead man’s face. The little mole above his left eyebrow and the tiny scar along his jawline …

  A sudden chill enveloped her, and her heart began to race. She staggered back a step or two, nearly fell, but somehow caught herself in time.

  “I know who the victim is,” she said in a strangled voice as Justine returned. “We both knew him.”

  Justine stood beside Ella, looking pale but ready to work. “Who is it?”

  “Harry Ute,” Ella said, her voice a tight whisper.

  “Our Harry, the officer who was part of our team for years?” Seeing Ella nod, Justine shook her head. “No way. Ralph and I took him out for coffee and apple pie just a few days ago. He came to the station to catch up with old friends.”

  Though the temperature was in the high seventies, Ella felt ice cold. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to warm up. Harry was more than a friend. They’d dated exclusively for almost a year, and before leaving to join the U.S. Marshals Service, he’d asked her to be his wife. Though it had broken her heart to say no, she just hadn’t been ready to make that kind of a commitment, so they’d parted ways. That was almost ten years ago, she realized, when Dawn was starting first grade.

  The connection they’d shared once and faded memories of another time lingered in her mind along with an overwhelming sense of loss. A shudder ripped through her.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? I saw his hands,” Justine said. “Stealing the whorls, the fingerprints, that’s the mark of … the evil ones.”

  “I know, but I’m still hoping it’s just some sicko thinking we won’t be able to ID the body now,” Ella said.

  “I suppose so, but that would mean he’s not particularly bright,” Justine said. “We could trace the pickup from the plate.”

  “I better call this in,” Ella said. She moved around the area, holding up the phone in hopes of getting a signal. “No luck. I better use the radio,” she said at last, and went back to the SUV.

  TWO

  While waiting for the crime scene unit and the tribe’s own medical examiner to arrive, Ella and Justine separated the men and questioned them thoroughly. Both had records for shoplifting and, when employed, usually worked construction, often for the same contractor.

  The men claimed to have been on their way to Shiprock to look for work when they saw what they’d thought was an abandoned truck. Short on cash and knowing the battery would be easy to sell, Andrew had stood on the running board, reached inside through the open window, and pulled the hood release.

  “So, Andrew, did you intend on reporting the body?” Ella asked.

  “Yeah, sure. As soon as I got to Shiprock, I would have stopped at a pay phone and called it in. Ernie probably wouldn’t have. He thinks he’ll call the chindi if he even talks about the body. He really believes in all that traditional stuff. He’s already talking about going to a hataalii for a blessing—once he scrapes up enough money, that is.”

  “Did you look at the body?”

  “Me? No, not after I knew the guy was dead. Why would I? That’s too gross even for me.”

  Ella questioned him for several minutes, and once assured he had no more information to share, placed him back in the SUV, still handcuffed. Moments later, Justine followed, securing Cohoe there as well.

  With their prisoners put away, Ella and Justine moved out of the men’s hearing range to discuss what they’d learned.

  “Our friend wasn’t killed today, and maybe not even yesterday,” Justine said.

  “Unless those two morons decided to return to the scene just to see what else they could find, there’s no way we can link them to the homicide,” Ella said. “They don’t have anything on them or in their vehicle that ties them directly to the shooting. No rifle, no bolt cutters, no … trophies.”

  “All we can prove is that they were about to take the battery and that they fled the scene,” Justine said. “They also weren’t planning on stealing the truck, though the keys are still in the ignition, or they wouldn’t have removed the battery.”

  “My guess is that they wouldn’t have wanted to touch anything that had been in direct contact with the dead, not even Andrew, who’s clearly a Modernist,” Ella said. “These two will probably lawyer up once they’re at the station, but I’m going to hold them for twenty-four hours. Once the ME establishes a time of death, we’ll question them again and verify their alibis.”

  Justine glanced off at the mountains, purposely avoiding looking back at Harry’s truck. “Our friend was as thin as a rail when I first met him. Then he bulked up, started with the bodybuilding, and his face filled out. For an old guy—no offense—he was pretty good looking. And a fine investigator, too,” she added quickly, looking back at Ella. “I know you two were real close for a while. Are you sure you’ll be okay working the scene?”

  “I’ll be fine. What we had ended a long, long time ago,” Ella said, for her own benefit as well.

  “Do you have any idea what he might have been doing out here?” Justine asked.

  “No, but that’s only one of the many questions we’ll need answered,” Ella said.

  As she waited for the crime scene team, Ella glanced back at the tribal SUV, checking on their prisoners. They both appeared to be fine but bored. That would end soon enough. A patrol car was en route and they’d be taken to the station and processed within the hour.

  Ella took another look at Harry’s truck, then the surrounding terrain. Her old friend had been ambushed, and from the angle of the wound, he’d never even seen it coming. In a way, that was a mercy. The mutilations had been performed postmortem, and he never suffered. She’d take all the comfort she could from that.

  “I’m going to start taking photos,” Justine called out.

  “Yeah, do. In particular, I’d like you to document what the evidence has already told us.”

  “Like what, specifically?”

  “His head had been facing forward, so he’d been looking out the front windshield when the bullet struck him high above his left ear. It passed through him completely, then continued through the passenger’s door and into the exposed road cut. From the angle, I’m guessing the shooter was on the top of the opposite slope.”

  Justine nodded. “Yeah. A drive-by shooter would have been at about the same level as him, and the bullet would have passed out the open passenger’s-side window instead. Hopefully the round won’t be too badly deformed when we find it and we’ll be able to match it to a specific weapon eventually.” She paused for a moment. “I know he was doing PI work, but do you happen to know what kind? Background checks, business thefts, security?”

  Ella shook her head. She’d noticed that, like her, Justine was avoiding using Harry’s name. That was said to call a man’s chindi, and though neither of them were Traditionalists, some habits were too deeply ingrained to ignore.

  “All I know is that he was working for Teeny,” Ella said. Bruce Little, an old friend and former cop, had his own PI agency. Despite his name, Teeny stood just shy of seven feet and was shaped like a barrel with arms. “Stay sharp out here, par
tner. We’ve already seen that there’s a lot more to this murder than just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  * * *

  Ella was marking off the area by setting out orange cones and Justine was taking photos when the tribe’s crime scene vehicle roared up the incline.

  Sergeant Benny Pete was at the wheel of the modified RV and Officer Ralph Tache was in the passenger’s seat next to him. Sergeant Joe Neskahi, also part of their team, had been off duty but, according to dispatch, would be arriving soon. A half mile farther down the road, Ella could see the much smaller medical examiner’s van following in their wake.

  Tache, limping from injuries he’d suffered years back while trying to disarm a pipe bomb, stepped down out of the van first. “Okay to pull in close?” he called out to Ella.

  “Yeah, go ahead. We’ve already checked the ground inside the markers.” She pointed to the Day-Glo orange cones.

  Benny, the driver, looked at Tache, who then guided him in closer using hand signals. The taller vehicle would provide them some shade for the next few hours, at least, and there was an awning they could extend, if needed.

  Once the vehicle was in position, Ella met Officer Tache halfway. “I’m sorry you have to see this, too, Ralph,” she said. “You were his partner for years, it won’t be easy.”

  Tache nodded and cleared his throat before speaking. “He thought the world of you, Ella,” he said, looking down the road and not making eye contact with her.

  She swallowed hard, but kept her voice steady. “Let’s get to work. Our friend deserves our best efforts. I’d like you to take over the camera work. Justine and Benny can complete a perimeter search and I’ll see if I can narrow down the shooter’s location. Also be on the lookout for anything odd, like Navajo ceremonial items or displays. Once you see the body, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  As Ralph turned toward the van to get his gear, Benny came up, catching the last of her words. A heavily tattooed city Navajo with an army buzz cut, the thirty-five-year-old had spent years with the LAPD and was a master at spotting details and finding trace.

  “Benny, once the ME removes the victim, I want you to help me examine the interior of the vehicle. It looks like a one-shot kill, but it’s also clear that someone, probably the shooter, moved the body, and not just to give easy access to the fingers.”

  “What about the fingers?” Benny asked.

  “The tips have been chopped off at the joint.”

  “Sorry I asked.”

  “Besides the missing body parts, I suspect that there are personal items that have been taken, like the victim’s weapon,” Ella said. “Nothing ever gets past you, so I want you to go over the crime scene with me.”

  “Okay, boss. I know this guy worked with the team, so he’s one of ours. The mutilations … are you thinking, skinwalkers?” He whispered the last word.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Ella also lowered her voice. “You might also keep an eye on Ralph. He was the victim’s partner. If he needs some space, or a kind word…”

  Benny nodded. “I’ve got it covered.”

  As Ella looked up at the top of the road, where evidence indicated the shooter must have been, she heard Carolyn pull up in the van. “I have to go meet the ME.”

  Not needing a response, Ella went to greet Dr. Carolyn Roanhorse. Her friend had never looked better. Losing sixty pounds over the past two years had changed her inside and out. These days, their ME turned heads wherever she went.

  Carolyn worked exclusively on the Navajo Nation, though officially she was an employee of the Office of the Medical Investigator based in Albuquerque. Unfortunately, her job as ME had made Carolyn almost an outcast on the Rez. Traditionalist Navajos believed that her work with the bodies of the dead meant she was contaminated with their essence. Modernists avoided her, too, but with them it wasn’t out of fear. It was a culturally enhanced, natural aversion to someone who spent their day working on corpses.

  Despite the odds against it, Ella and Carolyn had hit it off from the first day they’d met. Never one to run with the pack or bow to public opinion, Ella had understood Carolyn in a way few ever could have. Over the years their friendship had grown even stronger.

  “You made good time,” Ella said, and smiled. “Hot date tonight? That’s your new blouse, and you did your nails, too. Let me guess. You’re meeting Dr. Sheldon for dinner?”

  “No, that didn’t work out. He was too much in love with himself.”

  “So who are you seeing? Anyone I know?”

  “Maybe,” Carolyn muttered, not looking directly at her.

  “You’re being awfully cryptic.” Ella was trying to maintain the small talk they always used to take the edge off at crime scenes. It was a survival skill they’d all learned to help them cope with the brutality they often faced. Yet today for some reason Carolyn wasn’t in a talkative mood and Ella was running out of things to say. After a moment she gave up. “I guess I better let you get started. The body’s been mutilated in a way you’ll need to check more closely. We’ve seen stuff like this before.”

  Carolyn nodded somberly, then untied the colorful scarf she’d been wearing and placed it into her pocket. As Ella started to move away, Carolyn touched her forearm gently. “You sure about the ID?” she asked.

  Ella nodded.

  “All right, then. I’ll give this top priority.”

  A few minutes later, digital recorder on, Carolyn began recording her findings. With more light and an open driver’s door, Ella was able to look over Carolyn’s shoulder and verify that there were no objects under the seats except for a candy wrapper.

  The floorboards showed evidence of heavy rain splatter that had since dried. The absence of any marks on the now dusty interior, except for the scuff mark left when Andrew had leaned inside, suggested that nothing else had been disturbed recently. Ella made a mental note to ask the locals about the timing of the rain itself. A review of Doppler radar images would also help them establish the time line—at least of the rain.

  Carolyn’s voice was clinical and her comments precise as she examined the body. Ella moved away. Normally she liked listening in on Carolyn’s observations as she made them, but the identity of the victim changed things. She decided she’d rather face the news all at once than piecemeal.

  Ella was busy searching the ground when Carolyn finally called her over.

  “What do you have for me?” Ella said.

  “Today’s Thursday, so I’d say he died about forty-eight hours ago. I’d place the TOD Tuesday, between noon and four, judging from the condition of his skin, his eyes, and a few other indicators,” she said. “The finger joints were removed with something like bolt cutters or metal snips, but after his death. No sign of torture. The only thing I found in the victim’s clothing was this.” She held up a paper bag and Ella looked inside. There was an inexpensive ballpoint pen, a tube of mostly melted lip balm, and a pack of mint chewing gum with two remaining sticks.

  “No wallet, handgun, extra clip, or cell phone?” Ella asked. “He always carried a pocket spiral notebook, too.”

  Carolyn shook her head. “They weren’t on him. Maybe you’ll find those under his seat, or in the glove compartment.”

  “Okay, we’ll go over the interior once you release it to us,” Ella said, handing the bag back to Carolyn, who added her name, date, and the location of the found items.

  “Anything you can tell me about the gunshot?” Ella asked.

  “Only that it was probably fired from a high-velocity rifle, considering it went through and out the passenger’s-side door.” Carolyn said. “Until you recover the slug, we won’t know for sure, but it looks like a hunting round that mushroomed on impact.”

  “He was parked here, maybe waiting for someone or watching down the road.” Ella looked at the intersection a quarter mile away, then glanced up at the top of the road cut. “The way I see it, the sniper took the shot from up there,” she said, pointing to the rise on the left. “That’s w
hat, fifty yards?”

  “If that,” Carolyn said. “I’ve already taken tissue samples, so I’m ready to move the body and turn the scene over to you. Anybody on your B-list today? I can use a strong back or two to help get the victim into my van.”

  Ella thought about volunteering, but this wasn’t an ordinary scene and she just didn’t have it in her. Right now her priority was keeping it together. Hearing a new voice, she glanced around and saw that Sergeant Joe Neskahi had arrived. The bulky former wrestler caught her eye and nodded, sympathy evident in his soft expression. No words were needed.

  “Need some help, Doctor?” Joe asked, stepping up and giving Carolyn a smile.

  * * *

  Ten minutes after the two would-be thieves were transported to the station, Carolyn drove away with the body.

  Benny came up and joined Ella. “Photos, then a closer look?” he asked, holding up a camera and motioning toward the open door of the pickup.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Ella said.

  After Benny had taken a dozen photos from various angles, they both put on a second set of latex gloves, a habit of most tribal homicide cops. The outer layer would touch the dead and the things that had been left by the victim. The other would protect the wearer from contamination with the first pair when the gloves were removed.

  “See that outline on the passenger seat?” Benny pointed to a rectangle not marked with blood spray and gore. “It’s about the size of a cell phone.”

  “He probably set it there, and his killer removed it before the body was tipped away from the steering wheel. The shooter seems to have taken almost everything the victim had on him. If you happen to find a small spiral notebook anywhere, let me know.”

  Ella heard digging sounds on the opposite side of the pickup. “Anything yet, Justine?”

  “Just a second…,” she said. “Gotcha,” she added a second later.

  Justine stood and held up a round. “Found the bullet. It’s a mushroomed rifle slug, but it’s in pretty bad shape. Some of the copper jacket is probably still in the ground or the door panel.” Justine came around the front of the pickup and handed the evidence bag to Ella. “There’s not much hope for a match. The rifling is barely there.”