by Aimée
“I’ll be seeing him again soon, Mom. The county will be helping me investigate my old friend’s death.” Detective Dan Nez, who spoke Navajo as well as he did English, usually acted as liaison between tribal and county operations.
Rose finished the last of her tea, walked to the sink, washed out her glass, then put it in the drain rack.
“You know you don’t have to wait up for me, Mom,” Ella said, joining her at the sink.
“I sleep better once I know you’re home safe,” she said, and gave Ella a worried glance. “I’ve heard what you’re up against. Make sure you have protection at all times.”
Though she hadn’t mentioned it specifically, Ella knew Rose had somehow found out about the skinwalkers. It shouldn’t have surprised her. Her mother had more connections than anyone else she knew.
“Good night, daughter,” she said, and walked down the hallway that separated the new and old wings of the house. They’d added on several years ago to accommodate Rose and her husband, Herman.
A few minutes later, with only the hall night-light to show her the way, Ella silently opened Dawn’s door and looked inside.
Her daughter’s eyes were closed, her breathing deep, but she still had the earphone of her smartphone attached. The expensive phone, with dozens of apps, had been Kevin’s birthday gift, something Ella would never have been able to afford. As an attorney working for the tribe, Kevin was very well compensated.
Wondering if there was a sleep mode app on the device, Ella shook her head and closed the door. Kids could sleep through anything, especially fourteen-year-olds. At least it was summer, so Dawn didn’t have to be up every day at six thirty.
Thankful for the peace that encircled her family, Ella continued down the hall to her room.
* * *
She was up early and out of the shower before seven. When she walked into the kitchen, Herman and Rose were making breakfast together. As usual, her mom was wearing a shapeless flowerprint housedress with big pockets and her fluffy green slippers. Her freshly brushed silver hair hung down loosely around her shoulders.
Herman had on a long-sleeved, plaid flannel shirt, faded jeans, and his blue suspenders. His cowboy boots were so old and scuffed, they looked like tan velvet, but he bragged that they were as soft as gloves. For years he’d worn his gray hair long, with a headband, but for the past several months he’d adapted the buzz cut of a soldier. That alone had made him look years younger, which seemed to please him much more than it did Rose.
“Good morning, you two,” Ella said, holding back the impulse to ask if hell had frozen over. Having married in their seventies, Herman and Rose had very different habits, particularly when it came to breakfast. It was rare to see them together this time of day.
“Oatmeal?” Herman asked Ella.
“No thanks, just coffee,” Ella said.
Herman had slowed a step or two the last few years, fighting a heart ailment that still worried her mom. Rose had read up on it, and after learning about oatmeal’s supposedly beneficial effects, she insisted Herman have a serving each morning.
“Mom!” Dawn came into the kitchen, still brushing her long black hair.
Ella smiled. Her daughter was already taller than Herman and Rose, and would probably exceed Ella’s five-foot-ten-inch frame by the time she graduated high school.
Dawn gave Ella a big hug—a welcome contrast from the usual mumbles and groans that went with the school months. Nothing made her child happier than a carefree summer and lots of time to spend with their horses.
“I love you, Mom. Make sure you wear your vest today, okay?” she said, tightening the hug before releasing her. “I know it’s hot, but it’s better to be safe.”
“Of course, dear. It’s with my handgun, and I usually put it on before I get in the pickup,” Ella said, squeezing Dawn’s hand and noting that her daughter wasn’t making eye contact.
“Okay, well, gotta go check on the horses,” Dawn said, heading for the kitchen door.
“Where did that come from?” Ella asked, watching her daughter walking across the yard.
“We’re all worried, after yesterday,” Rose said, “but she’s at an age when admitting something like that to you isn’t … cool?”
Ella looked over at Herman, who nodded. “Listen to your daughter. Stay safe.”
* * *
It was seven thirty by the time Ella arrived at the station. She parked her Ford 150 pickup beside the main entrance and went inside. These days, with budgetary considerations, few of them ever got to take the tribal SUVs home.
At her desk minutes later, Ella checked her in-basket first. Nothing new had come in since last night, and several residents in the general area of the murder scene had yet to be interviewed.
As she skimmed through her team’s reports, Ella found a Post-it note on Sergeant Neskahi’s report. His message, “Call me,” got her immediate attention.
She picked up the phone, dialed his cell number, and got him on the first ring. “What’s going on, Joe?”
“I’m on my way to the station right now. Could you assemble our team? I ran into a problem, and I’d like everyone to hear this firsthand.”
“You’ve got it.”
Ella left voice mail for FBI Agent Blalock, then word at the front for Benny and Ralph to come to her office as soon as they reported in. After that, she went to the lab to touch base with Justine.
The improvised facility wasn’t much bigger than a storeroom, with work counters around the perimeter and a big island in the middle that usually held the instruments needed for a rudimentary examination of evidence.
Justine was measuring the recovered slug when Ella came in.
“Morning, boss,” Justine said without looking up. “New perfume?”
Ella shook her head. “Dawn found this cucumber herbal shampoo and I tried it this morning. Supposed to be great for my hair, but I smell like a salad, don’t I?”
“Nah, more like a bushel of cucumbers. Nice, but if you want to attract a man, try Coors.”
Ella smiled. “How much longer you going to be with that slug?”
“Pretty much done. I’ve identified the manufacturer and caliber, it’s a .308 Hornady 165-grain Spire Point, Boat Tail, I think. The brand and boat tail are for sure, but there was so much damage, I can’t be sure about the weight. I’m sending it to the FBI lab in Albuquerque via Agent Blalock. They’ve got all the instruments and technology needed to confirm.”
“No rifling marks you can use?”
“Not enough to get a match in court, but at least we have a rifle caliber and manufacturer,” Justine said, then looked at her. “What’s going on? Are you calling a meeting this morning?”
She nodded. “Joe wanted to share something he didn’t want to put in his report for some reason. I’d planned on us going over to finish up the interviews—to talk to people who weren’t around when Benny and Joe were working the area—but let’s wait and see what Joe has to say first.”
“Do I have time to pick up another coffee?” Justine asked, holding up her empty cup.
“Yeah, and grab one for me, too. I need to get back. Joe should be here by now.” Ella reached into her pocket and brought out a couple of dollars. “I’m buying.”
As Ella went around the corner of the hall, she saw Sergeant Neskahi standing outside her office door, talking to Agent Dwayne Blalock.
FB-Eyes, the nickname he’d been given by local Navajos because he had one blue eye and one brown, was close to the Bureau’s mandatory retirement age of fifty-seven now. Despite that, the six-foot-plus agent looked as fit as any of the younger men in the department. He had a barely detectable limp due to a bullet he’d taken while working with her in the field years back, but it hadn’t slowed him down.
A pain in the butt at first, Blalock had mellowed over time, and these days received more respect than disdain in their community.
Blalock turned as she walked up, and gave her a nod. “My condolences, Ella.”
/> “Thanks, Dwayne,” she said, motioning both men to her office. “So fill us in, Joe. What’s going on?”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to wait until we’re all behind closed doors,” he said.
Hearing footsteps, Ella saw Ralph Tache walking down the hall just ahead of Benny Pete and Justine.
“Pull up a chair, guys,” she said, waving her hand. The office wasn’t the smallest one she’d had, but with all these officers, they were cramped for space. Justine, the last one in, closed the door behind her and handed Ella her coffee.
“Before we get started, let me say that we all lost a friend, and although it hurts, we have to stay focused on the job at hand. Until his killer is caught, consider this case top priority,” Ella said, noting the heads nodding in approval.
“Joe? You had something you wanted to share with us?” Ella added.
Neskahi stood. “When I went to speak with Sarah Willie, aka Bitsy, the teen who discovered the body, I picked up some strange vibes. They’re Modernists, but the father was on the phone, making arrangements for a local hataalii to come do a Sing over his kid. That surprised me, so I asked Mr. Willie about it. He told me that he knew the murder was the work of skinwalkers. Exactly how word got out, I don’t know, but it’s no longer a secret. The only question is how far it’s spread.”
“What made him so sure it was skinwalkers? Did he go back to the site and take a look after his kid told him about it? Bitsy didn’t get that close a look,” Ella said. The very situation they’d hoped to avoid was now a reality.
“I wanted to know that, too,” Joe said. “When I asked, he said that he’d been hearing strange howling sounds at night—nothing that came from any animal he recognized. Something had also been scaring his horses all week. He hadn’t personally seen anything, but he said that most of his neighbors were convinced that skinwalkers were active in the area, especially after sundown, out to make trouble.”
“Crap,” Ella said, rubbing her neck with one hand. “That means people will shoot first and ask questions later. If accusations begin flying around about who’s responsible, we may end up with more than one body.”
“Fear, murder, and a gun in every home. A recipe for disaster if I ever heard one,” Blalock said.
Seeing the others nod, Ella continued the briefing. To emphasize the point that they were all law enforcement professionals with a clear job ahead, she used the deceased’s name. “Harry was working for Bruce Little, but his death may not have been linked to his current case. We need to dig hard without tipping our hand, and see why a skinwalker went after him.”
“Maybe he saw something he wasn’t supposed to,” Benny said.
“That’s one possibility,” Ella said.
“What about Harry’s laptop and notebook?” Tache said. “Have those been found?”
“No, they’re still missing. The killer undoubtedly used the key to Harry’s home, let himself in, and took the laptop along with any flash drives and hard drive backup systems.”
“What about the woman he brought home with him? Could she have taken his laptop?” Benny asked.
“No way. Harry would have noticed. It was sitting in plain sight on his desk,” Ella said.
“So, bottom line. Ute may have been killed for what he knew or was about to find out, which may explain why the killer took the laptop later after the shooting. Also, any answer has to include the apparent skinwalker connection,” Blalock said, recapping.
“That’s the way it looks so far,” Ella said. “Ralph, go over the cases Harry handled while he was with our department and see if he had any run-ins with skinwalkers or suspected skinwalkers. Dwayne, I’d like you to search and see if any of the enemies he made while in the marshals service are from this area or have voiced credible threats. Although it appears likely that his murder is related to something currently happening on the Rez, we can’t afford to overlook anything.”
Benny stood. The former L.A. sergeant was the most recent addition to their team. Like Ella, he’d returned to the Navajo Nation after a long absence to serve his tribe. “I’d like to bring up another possible motive—the victim’s personal life. I understand he was divorced and had a daughter. Maybe there’s a custody battle in the works. Also, he seems to have retired from the marshals service long before retirement age. We need to find out what happened there.”
Ella turned to Officer Tache. “When he dropped by the station last month to visit, did he share anything about that, Ralph?”
“He said that his job with the marshals service had cost him his marriage and he was tired of never being anyplace for long. He’d come back, where his roots were, to start over, but there were no current job openings with the tribe,” Ralph said. “When Bruce Little offered him work, he jumped at it. From here, it’s only a two-and-a-half-hour drive to visit his kid on weekends.”
“Did he ever mention anything about his ex-wife having a boyfriend, or did he have another woman in his life that you know about?” Blalock asked, glancing very briefly at Ella.
Justine and Neskahi also turned her way for a second.
“Okay, guys, for the record, I dated Harry for several months back in the day,” Ella said, “but that was before he met Selina—never after. What we had was over a long time ago, and, no, we didn’t see each other after he returned.”
“How about the Navajo woman who was at his apartment the night before last? She may not have been a one-night stand,” Justine said. “Maybe she had a jealous boyfriend, or it’s possible she was upset because Harry wasn’t moving things along more quickly. She could have learned Harry’s schedule and set him up to be ambushed.”
Blalock eased back in his chair. “Or maybe she was just a few hours of company for a lonely man. Until we track her down, there’s no way for us to know.”
“Agreed,” Ella said. “County has a description, and both our departments are actively searching for her now.”
“Are you sure you want county deputies looking for a woman who might be connected to thefts of county property?” Blalock said. “I trust Sheriff Taylor and the few county deputies I’ve worked with personally, but I’ve also been burned by bad cops and bad ex-cops.”
“Sheriff Taylor’s people have been told that she’s a person of interest because she was seen with Harry before he was killed, nothing more. If they find the woman, we’ll conduct the interview.”
“Make sure I’m in on that,” Blalock said.
“You’ve got it,” Ella said. “Watch yourselves out there, people, and if anyone hears anything more specific about skinwalker activity, come to me right away.”
FIVE
As they headed back into the remote community west of Shiprock where Harry’s body had been found, Ella noted how tightly Justine was gripping the wheel.
“The one advantage the rumor about skinwalkers will give us is that most of the People will stay away from the area—Modernists and Traditionalists alike,” Ella said. “We all grew up hearing about Navajo witches, but even those of us who don’t believe in that will still try to steer clear.”
Justine nodded. “You’re right. Though logic tells me there’s nothing to those stories, a part of me still feels uncomfortable when I have to deal with stuff like this.”
“On the Rez we grow up listening to whispers about skinwalkers digging up bodies for corpse powder, and using bits of bone for ammunition. That’s creepy and not something you just forget.”
Justine nodded. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”
Ella glanced around, getting her bearings. They’d turned off the mail route to a smaller, thinly graveled road. Ahead was a gray stucco pitched-roof frame house. Two narrow ruts led from the road to a pair of vehicles parked twenty feet from the front door.
“This is the teacher’s place. Truman John wasn’t there when Benny and Joe stopped by yesterday, but maybe we’ll catch him today,” Ella said.
“Truman John’s got to be a Modernist, and not just because he’s got a college degree. He’s
not only got electricity and a phone line, he’s got satellite,” Justine said, gesturing.
A line of telephone poles running alongside the road continued north to Rattlesnake, and then to the large community of Shiprock to the east. Two lines split off the closest pole and led to the roof of the house.
“Looks like we lucked out,” Ella said. “With tracks leading to the Dodge pickup and that old VW Bug, somebody’s got to be home. Wonder where the man’s working these days? According to what Tache got from the tribal records, Truman was laid off from his teaching job at Kirtland Middle School last fall when the district budget got the axe.”
“What’d he teach?”
“Social studies and Navajo culture.”
“We had New Mexico history, but no courses on Navajo ways when I went to school. I had to learn that on my own at home,” Justine said, coming to a stop behind the VW.
“Write down the vehicle tags. We’ll run them later,” Ella said, looking toward the front window. A man was standing beside the curtain, looking out at them. Considering the rumors, it wasn’t unexpected.
“Got the plate,” Justine said, jamming the small spiral notebook back into her pocket, then rolling down the electric window with a touch of the button. “It’s going to get hot today. The temperature’s climbing fast.”
“Although Truman’s not a Traditionalist, try to avoid mentioning skinwalkers directly, partner,” Ella said, opening her own window. “Even Modernists sometimes feel uncomfortable hearing the word spoken out loud. Our culture says that’s enough to draw the evil ones to you.”
Ella got out, deciding not to wait to be invited since Truman clearly wasn’t a Traditionalist. As she walked to the front door, Justine right behind her, she saw a corral in the back. It appeared to be in good shape and clear of weeds, although there were no animals currently in it. A big, new-looking metal loafing shed open on one side held at least fifty bales of either really bad hay, or straw.
As they walked to the front of the house, Ella’s attention was drawn to the well-laid-out and landscaped yard with its colorful desert plants, some of them mulched with straw. Most locals saved their precious water resources for crops and fruit trees. Landscaping was considered a luxury in this community.