Death Walker

by Aimée

  Then she felt a pair of hands under her arms tugging her up, and as her eyes focused, Ella saw Blalock. She knew his lips were moving, forming words, but nothing made sense.

  “What happened?”

  She could read the question on his lips, but the reality of what she’d done slammed into her with such force, it knocked the air out of her. “Mistake,” she managed.

  “You got the kid out alive, you did okay. You’ll get a commendation for this.”

  Ella felt ill. It was like déjà vu. Another hostage situation, another incredible fiasco, and he wanted to give her another medal.

  “I’m going to need you to answer some questions,” Blalock continued. “Are you up to it?”

  Her vision had cleared, but the sight before her, and the smell of gunpowder and blood, almost made her choke. “Get me outside,” she whispered in a shaky voice.

  He took her arm and propelled her toward the vehicles. “You talked to the kidnapper, then he let you leave with the kid. What happened? You were at the door, then suddenly you turned around and went back in.”

  “I heard him pull the hammer back, and that’s when I knew what he was about to do.” She swallowed, determined not to fall apart. “I blew it. I didn’t stay in control. I was concentrating so hard on getting him to let the kid go, I wasn’t reading his signals. I was more afraid of what could happen to the little girl.”

  “You did what you had to do. As far as I’m concerned you handled it like a trouper.”

  Ella felt sick to her stomach and her hands were shaking, but she didn’t want Blalock to see her losing control. She had to get hold of her emotions before she fell apart.

  Blalock must have read her expression, because he abruptly changed the conversation. “By the way, earlier when I requested you, your chief said you’d be glad to assist. He was so cooperative, I think he already has some payback in mind. Any idea what he wants?” He took Ella’s boots and holster from a police officer and handed them to her.

  She tried to push down the emotions that were tearing at her insides as she reattached her holster and then fumbled with her boots. She would concentrate on the murder of Kee Dodge. She had to. She could still do some good there. “The bureau’s lab could really help out the tribe right now. We need your fancy equipment and some fast answers.”

  “You’ve got it,” Blalock answered. “I’ll make the arrangements. The Albuquerque bureau office uses the Albuquerque lab, so we’ll deal through them. It should be faster than going all the way to Washington.” He lapsed into a thoughtful silence. “Is this connected to Dodge’s murder? I heard about that from one of my contacts. It’s supposed to be a little on the weird side.”

  “Yeah, you can say that.”

  “Like last summer?” he asked, knowing she’d need no clarification.

  “I don’t know. It’s much too early to tell for sure.”

  “But you have a gut feeling about it, don’t you?” he observed.

  “It’s only a guess,” Ella shrugged, then continued. “The killer took special care to leave some unmistakable clues,” she explained. “It was very carefully staged and planned. On the basis of that, I’m willing to bet that he wants attention focused on him.”

  “A serial killer?”

  “Maybe, but this isn’t going to run any textbook course.”

  “Nothing on the reservation ever does,” Blalock muttered. “I better finish up here.”

  Ella watched him leave, then signed a report one of the Farmington policemen handed her. It was time for her to go. She caught a glimpse of the body bag being hauled out and practically ran to her Jeep, where she was at least partially shielded from view. She gripped the wheel tightly, trying to get her hands to stop shaking, but she was not wholly successful.

  She’d blown it, dammit. She should have been able to talk him down. It shouldn’t have ended like this.

  Once again, Ella felt the contents of her stomach rise to her throat. She swallowed hard. She had to get herself under control. The more she tried to push away the darkness of her world, the stronger it seemed to get. She shook free of the thought. She needed to concentrate on what she had accomplished. She’d saved a little girl’s life as well as her own. She had controlled the hostage-taker’s actions at least that much. No one would hold her responsible for what had happened. And she couldn’t hold herself completely accountable for the actions of another either.

  Logically it made sense, but, inside, she felt as if her chest had been locked in a vise. She started her vehicle, assuring Blalock she was fine with a wave of her hand. She had work to do, and it was time to get back to it.

  THREE

  Ella threaded her way carefully through Farmington and soon was back on the highway, heading west. She wanted to talk to Kee Dodge’s family. She knew he had a wife and a daughter. They’d be reluctant to speak of the dead this soon after the murder, and might even refuse to speak to her, but she had to try.

  As Ella came around the Hogback, she picked up the mike, asking for a 10-20 on Mrs. Dodge’s home. After getting the location, she made a brief radio report on the outcome of her work for Blalock while en route. Dodge’s home was in a farming area on the flood plain alongside the San Juan River, a twenty-minute drive northwest of Shiprock.

  The road leading to the tiny wood-framed house was nothing more than two deep furrows cut between fields of melons. She slowed down, shifting to a lower gear to avoid getting trapped in the damp soil. She saw a sheep corral first, then spotted a girl about sixteen tending several newborn lambs. The girl’s long black hair was braided in a single strand that hung down her back, almost to the pockets of her jeans. She was wearing a red and silver Shiprock Chieftains T-shirt.

  Ella parked next to the corral and identified herself.

  The girl introduced herself as Cindi Dodge and nodded, not surprised. “My mom said someone would come by. We got the news from an uncle who works for the tribal police. He came by to tell us.”

  The girl’s expression was taut. There was a touch of fear in her eyes. She refused to meet Ella’s gaze, and her own darted continually back to the sheep. Still, Ella sensed an uneasiness in the young girl that transcended a natural distrust of the police. Navajos, particularly, the younger ones, were taught it was rude to meet someone’s gaze. Ella had been raised the same way. “Where can I find your mother?”

  Cindi led the way wordlessly to the house. As they approached, a short Navajo woman wearing a traditional multicolored long skirt and a bright red blouse came out to meet them.

  “I’m Ernestine. I’ve been expecting you.” The woman nodded, but didn’t invite Ella inside. Instead she gestured toward two metal chairs that were placed in the shade of the partially enclosed portal.

  Ella took one chair as Ernestine Dodge seated herself in the other. Her daughter stood silently by the door, watching. Ella waited a polite moment, then spoke. “I need to ask you some questions about your husband.”

  Ernestine nodded once. “There’s nothing I can tell you, only that I believe this is part of the trouble your family brought down on us. Your father stirred up all that evil because of his church and many were killed. Bad things always follow you, too, it seems. Just this morning after you went to where my husband was killed, a whole busload of our people were hurt right on the same road you’d drive on to get there.”

  The statement had the impact of a physical blow. Although Ella knew it shouldn’t have taken her completely by surprise, the bluntness of Ernestine’s words was a shock. “Surely you don’t think that either me or my family is to blame for what has happened.”

  Ernestine shrugged. “Your family attracts trouble. That’s all I know.”

  Ella remained quiet, refusing to give in to anger or to sorrow over her father’s death. Her gaze drifted to the loom that had been set up at the other end of the porch, and then to the basketball goal on the old telephone pole by the fence. At long last she was ready to speak again. “The tragedies today had nothing to do with
one another, or with my family,” she said calmly.

  “I may be wrong about the bus wreck, but I was told about the condition of my husband’s body. He had no enemies. How else can it be explained?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I will,” Ella replied simply. “Had anyone threatened him, or had he been in an argument with anyone lately?”

  “No.”

  Cindi Dodge moved closer to her mother. “Well, he had been fighting with Stubby, Mr. Todacheene, over the water, remember? Daddy said Stubby took more than his share from the irrigation ditch, and everyone else was being shortchanged.”

  Ernestine scowled at her daughter. “That’s not a reason to kill a man like your father.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide that,” Ella answered, then shifted her gaze to Cindi. “Did you overhear any of these arguments?”

  Cindi shrugged. “Everyone did. Just ask around. But Stubby does pick fights. He likes annoying other people. At least that’s what Dad always said.”

  “It’s true,” Ernestine admitted. “But it still means nothing. Clyde Todacheene wouldn’t harm anyone.”

  “What about your husband’s students? Did he mention any who gave him trouble, or who were behaving strangely?”

  “No. In fact, he was pleased that they were so interested in the old ways and in learning what he had to teach. It wasn’t always that way, you know. This interest in our past is something new among the young people.”

  “Would you be willing to take a look through his things and inside his truck, and tell us if anything is missing? I’d like to rule out robbery as a motive.”

  Ernestine looked horrified. “You know better than to ask me that. His truck was part of him, and the chindi…”

  Ella exhaled softly. “How about if I give you a list of what he had with him inside the vehicle. Will you tell me if you notice the absence of anything?”

  Ernestine took a deep breath. “All right.”

  Ella walked to her vehicle and radioed in. After receiving and writing down the list Detective Ute gave her, she returned to the porch. She sat down and handed it to Ernestine.

  The woman studied it for a long time. “If something is missing, I don’t know what it could be.”

  “There was no money in his wallet. Do you know how much he had with him?”

  Ernestine shook her head. “I don’t think he had any. I remember him asking me yesterday if I could stop by the bank because he was out of cash. He used the last he had to buy gas. Only I forgot. I intended to do it today.”

  Ernestine handed Cindi the list. Cindi studied it then, shaking her head, and handed it back to Ella. “Everything seems okay to me.”

  Ella studied their faces. They were not trying to conceal anything, but neither seemed the type to really notice minute details. The hem on Ernestine’s skirt was partially torn, and the scarf that Cindi had used to tie back her hair was practically falling off, but the girl hadn’t noticed.

  “Dad was a good teacher,” Cindi put in, “but he was never really organized. He could have had almost anything with him. We wouldn’t know something was missing until we went looking for it.”

  Ernestine nodded in agreement. “She’s right.”

  The older woman paused for a long time, but Ella sensed she had more to say. She waited patiently, not disturbing the silence. At long last, Ernestine spoke. “Knowledge will die with him, and the Dineh will lose part of their history forever. This shouldn’t have happened. Do you think you’ll catch the person who did this?”

  “Yes. I won’t give up until I do. Count on that.”

  When Ernestine stood and walked to the house, Ella knew she’d get nothing further from her today. She’d been lucky to get as much cooperation as she had. Cindi, meanwhile, grabbed a worn basketball from inside the screen door and went to shoot baskets.

  Ella returned to her vehicle, thoughts racing through her mind. It was clear that her family would come under personal attack again unless she found answers fast. What had come as a surprise was how quickly the suggestion had arisen that the bus accident was somehow related to the crime. The Navajo People were superstitious, and connections between these closely timed events were not unexpected, but she had hoped not to confront it during her investigation just yet. Tense and apprehensive, she quickly decided her next move.

  Ella checked her watch as she headed down the highway toward the PHS hospital. It had been about seven hours since they’d found the body. Maybe Carolyn would have something preliminary for her by now.

  Thirty minutes later, Ella parked by the rear doors and went downstairs to the morgue. An Anglo lab technician was sitting at her desk typing, dictaphone earphones on.

  As Ella approached the desk, the woman looked up. “Dr. Roanhorse said you’d probably be by,” she said, recognizing Ella. “The doctor said for you just to go in. She’s checking tissue samples, but she wants to talk to you.”

  Ella braced herself as she went through the doors. The last time she’d been here, it had been to view her father’s body. Her skin turned as cold as ice as she stepped inside. Tile floors with a drain in the middle just accentuated the dreadful feel of the place.

  Carolyn glanced up and turned the tape recorder off. “I thought you’d be showing up here soon.”

  “Have you discovered anything so far that I should know about?”

  “Well, he’d been dead for about an hour when I checked the body at the scene. That puts the time of death around seven A.M. Also, the bone imbedded in the victim’s eye isn’t a human bone,” Carolyn said slowly. “And it was inserted after the victim had already died.”

  “Wait. Back up a bit. Don’t skinwalkers use human bone?”

  “That’s what I’ve always thought, but maybe you should verify that with your brother.”

  Despite herself, Ella glanced down at the table. The corpse had been covered with a sheet, but the dented outline of the head was visible through the drape, reminding her of the brutality of the crime. “So, we may be dealing with a skinwalker wannabe.”

  “That’s my guess, too. But there was that painting done in ashes…” She let the sentence hang.

  “I’ll take photos of it to Clifford. As a hataalii he’ll be able to tell us what it’s supposed to mean, if anyone can.”

  “I’ll keep working. But Ella—this isn’t like before. The people who worked on your father’s body were experts in the Navajo Way. This is something else—amateurish, for lack of a more appropriate term. It’s like someone wants to make you think a skinwalker did it. Maybe they want to bring up memories that’ll confuse your thinking.”

  Determination shot through Ella like a bolt of electricity. “It won’t work.”

  Carolyn glanced back down at the body beneath the sheet. “I’ll let you know the moment I finalize my report.”

  Leaving Carolyn to her work, Ella walked out to the parking lot. She’d pick up the photographs from the crime scene if they were available, then head over to Clifford’s. If their family was going to come under attack again, the sooner her brother knew what was going on the better things would be.

  Ella drove directly to the station. As she parked in the small parking lot, she noted that Tache’s vehicle was one of those that remained. She was almost sure that Tache had developed the photos by now. He was one of the most efficient and hardworking cops around.

  It was near dusk, that time in between light and dark when shadows stretched almost to the horizon. Shifts had changed, and the office staff was long gone. Nerves stretched taut, she left her vehicle, automatically searching the area with the vigilance of a cop about to come under fire.

  She walked directly to the back of the building where her small office was located. It had been Sergeant Peterson Yazzie’s once, but now it held only a small desk with computer, her file cabinets, and a few mementos of her past. She’d hung her UNM diploma on one wall, and a shooting trophy she’d won during her days at the bureau was on a file cabinet. It was stark and utilitarian, but she was fi
nally home. Her accomplishments in the outside world weren’t as important to her as that one fact.

  Ella sat back in her chair organizing her thoughts. As her gaze fell on the desk drawer, she felt a prickle of uneasiness. The drawer had been left partially open. She always shut things all the way, part of her predilection for order.

  Ella pulled out the drawer slowly and carefully. It slid easily, and the contents didn’t appear to have been touched. Of course, anyone could have come in searching for a pencil, or a paper clip, or any of half a dozen other things. She glanced down at the little box of clips. The lid was shut, just as she’d left it, and all of her pens and pencils seemed to be there.

  Perhaps the person who’d been in her desk had left something behind instead. Ella thought for a moment, trying to remember the last time someone at the station had borrowed something of hers. Scanning the drawer, she noticed nothing new among the supplies.

  She reached underneath the drawer, running her fingers back and forth, remembering the time Blalock had bugged her mother’s home. Not feeling anything fastened there, she pulled the drawer out completely and set it on her desk.

  Ella got down on her knees and looked into the open cavity where the drawer had been, running her hand over it. She really wasn’t sure if she was being paranoid or just cautious, but after the murder she wasn’t about to get complacent about anything.

  As she got to her feet, Ella noticed a thin, tan-colored, rectangular outline about an inch wide and four inches long on the back of the drawer. Touching the spot, her fingers detected the sticky residue left by a piece of masking tape. The residue was tacky enough to have been recent.

  She stood and surveyed the rest of the room. Something had been taped behind the drawer, out of sight. She considered the possibility that the previous tenant, Peterson Yazzie, had hidden something there.

  Playing a hunch, Ella stretched to the right and looked down into the trash can beside the desk. Beside a few wadded-up balls of paper, a discarded piece of masking tape rested in the bottom. Taking a pair of tweezers from the desk drawer, she retrieved the tape and studied it. There was an imprint etched into the sticky side. Ella recognized the pattern. It was the outline of a key. Now she knew why the intruder had come.