Death Walker

by Aimée

  As soon as Loretta was out of view, Clifford gave her a worried glance. “I’m glad you didn’t say anything to Loretta. I don’t want her worried. I’ve been hearing gossip about the murder then that accident all day. Is it true? Are they back?”

  There was no need for Clifford to explain who “they” were. Ella could see the touch of fear that made Clifford’s eyes narrow, accentuating the patchwork of tiny lines that framed them. “That’s what I want you to tell me. I don’t know what’s going on, brother, but I think we’re being manipulated.”

  She recounted what she knew about the murder of Kee Dodge, carefully avoiding mentioning the victim’s name. “I brought you photos of the dry painting. I’ve tried researching those figures, but I couldn’t find anything even close.”

  “You’re certain about the ashes?”

  “The killer used powdered charcoal.”

  “Charcoal?” His eyebrows knitted together. “Let me see the photos.”

  Ella retrieved the file she’d brought. “Here they are, from a variety of angles.”

  Clifford studied the photos carefully, laying them out side by side on the coffee table. Silence stretched out for a long time, but Ella was careful not to interrupt. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to her, Clifford glanced up. “These are just poorly done stick figures. I have no idea who or what they’re supposed to represent, if anything.” He paused thoughtfully. “And something else. Skinwalkers use ashes to create their dry paintings, not ground-up charcoal. And normally their goal would be to depict the person or people they intend to kill. There’s nothing in these pictures that resembles the murdered man.”

  “So these figures could represent a future target?”

  “Yeah, but they seem more like some wild combination of the Holy People and plant life.” He shrugged. “Were you able to make anything more out of it?”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s why I brought the photos to you.”

  He sat back on the sofa and regarded her for a very long time. “The ones we fought before would have shown more skill at dry painting, and they would have known what materials to use. Someone wants to mislead you.”

  She nodded slowly. “I thought that too.”

  “But, just to be sure, may I make a suggestion?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “Talk to Leonard Haske. He has been a hataalii for over forty years. He’s in this part of the Rez now, visiting his daughter who just had a baby.”

  “Do you think he’ll help me? No one wants to answer these kinds of questions,” Ella said slowly, “particularly when I’m the one who asks them.”

  Clifford took a deep breath. “He’ll answer you because the safety of the tribe is at stake. But you’re right in saying he would prefer not to speak of these things. Face it, it’s a subject any of us would rather avoid.”

  “If you asked him, would he talk more freely with you? The tribe accepts you, but the same can’t be said for me. To most, I’m still an outsider.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “What you’re sensing is the natural reaction most people have to police officers. You do belong here.”

  “Yes, I do,” she agreed, “but no one forgets that I chose to leave, and that I turned my back on all of our teachings.”

  Clifford shrugged. “What you tried to do was foolish. You could never run away from who and what you are. Our family has certain abilities, and those would follow you anywhere, whether or not you acknowledged them. Your gift is your remarkable intuition, and look how it continues to help you.”

  Ella pursed her lips, suppressing the urge to deny Clifford’s comment. He insisted her investigative successes had a supernatural source, while she still preferred to think of her intuition as particularly sharp powers of observation, an instinct honed and developed to perfection by her training as a cop. But some things weren’t worth arguing about. “I wish I could get people to trust me.”

  “Things would be easier for you, true. But, little sister, if you have to work hard for it, you’ll appreciate it more when it happens. That’s part of your nature.”

  Ella smiled. “You may have a point.”

  Work finished, Ella stayed for a cup of coffee and a generous helping of local gossip from Loretta. When she left, her brother gave her a map of how to find Haske’s daughter’s home. There were others she had to talk to, but it was already too late tonight. It was time to go home. She’d get an early start tomorrow and tackle everything fresh then.

  Moonlight covered the desert in a silver-gray mantle. It looked peaceful enough, but something still made her restless. There was trouble brewing that went beyond Kee Dodge’s murder. A ripple of fear was already reaching out through the tribe. So many deaths in such a short time—the murder then the bus accident—would feed the growing disharmony and foster chaos among them. The beliefs that sustained the People could also work against them now.

  She thought of Leonard Haske. She’d only met the hataalii once, about fifteen years ago, but she’d never forgotten him. The man’s piercing gaze, the power and presence that held those around him in thrall, had left an indelible mark on her. She remembered being in awe of him, thinking that nothing could ever stand up to the power of that Singer’s song. The tribe needed men like him now more than ever.

  * * *

  Across the reservation a shadow moved stealthily through the dark. It was late, but night was his ally. He was a silent hunter in search of prey. He moved swiftly and silently through the desert, like a coyote, or better yet, a wolf. He spoke in low tones to himself, with the ease of someone who had always found himself his own best audience.

  This was his time; he was finally coming into his own. He felt powerfully alive, more animal than man. He could feel the fire in his belly nourishing him even as it slowly consumed him from within.

  The moon edged out from behind the clouds, and the desert came alive with the song of its night children. He crawled toward the edge of the mesa and watched the hogan below. The Singer was preparing a sand painting by lantern light. Perhaps it was for himself. He could smell the man’s fear, and the power it gave him electrified every cell in his body.

  He saw the hataalii look up, studying the area around him. He knew the old man could sense the threat against him, though he couldn’t do anything about it.

  He drew power from the Singer’s concerns, and felt his own strength grow. He was the invincible hunter who roamed the night. Darkness—that time which heralded the symbolic death of each day, defeating the light. Now it allowed him to view with impunity the life he would take. He threw his head back, but resisted the scream that built inside him. The need to complete the kill thrummed through his body. But he would wait. He would do things right.

  He crept away silently, feeling the hunger in his belly, the need to kill pulsing and growing stronger with each beat of his heart.

  Soon. He would do it soon.

  FOUR

  Ella woke up slowly, but it was still dark. Turning, she checked the clock on her nightstand. It was only five A.M., but sleep had eluded her all night long. Images of the hostage-taker’s distorted face and bloodless lips accusing her of failure had haunted her nightmares.

  She sat up, tossed the sheet and light quilt back, and went to the window. As a cop, crazy nightmares came with the territory. But until now, she’d never questioned her ability to cope with them. Cockiness, it seemed, was another of the casualties of experience.

  Ella pulled on a pair of jeans and a chambray work shirt, then walked barefoot into the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, but she poured herself a bowl of cereal anyway, needing the comfort of routine. As she opened the carton of milk, she could feel her hands shaking, a leftover from the horrific play of images that had filled her nightmares.

  Remembering Tony’s ghastly death, Ella gave up on the food and sat at the kitchen table, staring at her hands. She’d considered getting out of law enforcement dozens of times, but being a cop was all that gave her life here on the Rez purpose and definition.
The truth was she needed the job far more than it needed her.

  With an exasperated sigh, she stood up, went to her room, and finished getting dressed. The sun was rising, and her mother would be up soon. Deciding she might as well get an early start, Ella adjusted her pancake holster, making sure it fit securely at her waist, then checked her spare clips before returning them to her pockets. She then examined her boot holster and the backup pistol there. There were two rounds in the derringer, and it had taken both of them the last time she’d needed it.

  For a moment she felt like a knight-errant getting ready to do battle. She smiled, liking the mental image. Sometimes harsh realities needed a touch of soft fantasy to make them easier to bear.

  Ella started toward the front door. Today she’d visit Dodge’s neighbors first. By the time she made a stop at the Totah Café for coffee and finished the drive out to that farm, it would be morning and a decent time to call. After that, she’d go see Haske.

  Ella went to her Jeep, checked the tires and oil, then began the journey. Touching base with the dispatcher as she drove through Shiprock, she learned that all the evidence pouches were slated to be sent by courier to the crime lab in Albuquerque, and would be given top priority by request of the FBI—Blalock had kept his promise to put a rush on it. They would have some preliminary results by the end of the day, with luck.

  As the miles stretched behind her, she felt an unfamiliar restlessness nagging at her. Normally these long drives helped sort out her thoughts, but right now the delays created by the incredibly long distances she had to travel to interview people grated on her nerves. She recognized the symptoms of post-stress syndrome even in herself. She’d lived through too many partial victories this past year to be immune to the strain.

  Ella forced her thoughts onto the tack she wanted to take when she spoke to Dodge’s neighbors. She knew getting them to talk to her freely and openly wouldn’t be easy.

  It was eight in the morning by the time she reached Elsie Billey’s home. The seventy-year-old woman had lived in a modest cinder block house right off the irrigation ditch as far back as anyone could remember. When her only son had been killed in Vietnam, everyone had thought Elsie would die too. Her grief had been great, but everyone had underestimated the strength of the elderly woman who had already buried two husbands.

  Ella parked near the front door and waited, but she didn’t have to wait long. Elsie came to the front door, wearing a long skirt and a bright red long-sleeved blouse. Recognizing Ella, she waved.

  Ella left the vehicle and walked to the door, stopping on the wooden steps. “It’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”

  Elsie nodded, concern in her eyes adding to the serious look on her wrinkled face. “Bad things are happening again. I heard about that accident where all those people were killed, and about the murder of my neighbor. I figured the police would be by soon.”

  “That’s why I’m here. You’ve been a friend of my family’s for years. I’m hoping that you’ll also see me as a friend.”

  “Your mother’s clan and mine are related,” Elsie said, reaching up absently to touch the large silver and turquoise squash blossom around her neck. “We belong to the Deer People, and you to the God People. We’re all Red Soil People.” She gestured inside, then offered Ella a chair. “What do you need from me?”

  “Information. Your neighbor must have made some bad enemies.”

  Elsie shook her head. “No, that’s not true. I would have heard if that had been so.”

  “Maybe I should look for someone who was giving his family trouble?” Ella asked, trying to find another way to open the doors to the information she was certain Elsie had.

  “Oh, you’ve heard about his argument with Stubby over the irrigation water.” Elsie shook her head and shrugged. “That’s just Stubby’s way. Besides, both those old men liked to argue. It gave them something to do.”

  Ella sat back and regarded the elderly woman for several long seconds. Her hair was tied back in a bun at the base of her neck, but several strands had worked loose and hung down in errant locks. “If you were me, where would you start looking?” Ella asked directly.

  A flicker of something undefinable crossed Elsie’s eyes. “Gossip travels too quickly here. Whatever I say could do much harm.”

  “Gossip has already traveled,” Ella insisted. “The sooner I find answers, the quicker things can go back to the way they should be.”

  Elsie walked to the stove, turned on the butane burner under an old kettle, and added spoonfuls of instant coffee to a pair of white mugs.

  Ella watched her work, allowing the silence to stretch out. She wanted to prod for answers—the quiet preyed on her nerves—but to insist now would have the opposite effect. Finally Elsie joined her at the table, placing a mug of the steaming liquid in front of Ella.

  “Have you learned yet about my neighbor’s daughter? She is causing her mother much heartache. She’s a stubborn, spoiled child.” Elsie added at least five spoonfuls of sugar to her own mug before taking a swallow.

  Ella remembered Cindi Dodge. She’d been more outspoken than her mother, but that’s all she knew so far. “Tell me more about the girl.”

  “Her boyfriend is Steven Nez.”

  Ella searched her mind. The name sounded familiar. But the man she connected to the name was married and about twice Cindi’s age. “You don’t mean Sally’s husband, do you?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly who I mean. Steven Nez would show up at Cindi’s house every afternoon when both her parents were at work. One day, the girl’s father came home and found Steven there. He hauled Steven out by the back of his shirt and threw him into the truck. He told Steven that if he ever caught him around his daughter again, he’d get a seat full of buckshot. Then Cindi started seeing another boy, one her own age who had moved here from Fort Wingate. I heard Steven was jealous.”

  She shrugged. “Steven blamed Cindi’s father for everything. You see, Sally found out, too, and kicked him out of the house, so now he’s lost everything.”

  “Thanks for your help. I’ll keep it confidential, don’t worry.”

  “Steven is a worthless man, but I don’t think he would murder anyone,” Elsie added slowly. “I just can’t understand why anyone who knew my neighbor would do such a thing.”

  Elsie knew more about people than anyone else Ella could think of. She spent most of her time alone, and passed the days walking around the area, watching her neighbors. Sometimes they called the station to complain about her looking over their fences, or standing by their gates. “Was Kee Dodge ever said to associate with skinwalkers? Or have you ever heard any talk about him being a skinwalker?”

  Elsie’s face drew taut, and the lines that framed her weather-roughened face deepened. “It is time for you to go.” She stood up. “That is not a subject ever to be discussed in this house.”

  Ella realized her mistake and tried desperately to recover ground. “I’m working on behalf of the tribe. It’s for their sake I’m asking. I know there is danger speaking of these things, but for the sake of the People, won’t you talk to me?”

  Elsie’s eyes narrowed. “You have dishonored the name of one who is dead. I have nothing else to say to you.”

  Ella stood up, realizing that in her own way Elsie had answered the question. If Ella had dishonored Kee Dodge by linking him with skinwalkers, then that must mean that Dodge hadn’t been suspected of being a Navajo Wolf.

  Ella returned to her vehicle. Unfortunately, the next three houses she visited proved to be a complete waste of time. Either the inhabitants knew nothing or they were unwilling to talk to her. Finally she headed back down the highway. It was time to pay Leonard Haske a visit.

  She picked up her mike and reported in. Although the signal kept breaking up, the transmission was still clear enough to be understood. Carolyn Roanhorse and Big Ed had both asked to see her.

  Since Carolyn’s office was on the way to the station, Ella opted to stop there first. Forty m
inutes later she found Carolyn at her desk, sipping a diet cola and eating a sugar-glazed doughnut.

  Ella smiled. “Diet Coke doesn’t cut the calories of the doughnut,” she teased, “no matter what you may have read in your medical journals.”

  “But it does wonders for the guilt,” Carolyn retorted easily. “Want a doughnut?” She gestured to the box on the table behind her.

  Ella took one of the “smart pills,” a term she’d picked up for pastries among some of the Navajo cops, mainly to be sociable. “Heard you wanted to see me.”

  Carolyn handed her a copy of the autopsy report. “The bone inserted in the victim’s eye came from a cat.”

  Ella skimmed over the report. There was nothing else new there.

  “Notice that there’s no mutilation of the body, like before, except for the eye,” Carolyn said slowly, clearing her throat.

  Ella knew precisely which “before” Carolyn was referring to. When skinwalkers had murdered Ella’s father, their deadly signature had been left on the corpse for all to see.

  “I’m nearly convinced this has nothing to do with skinwalkers,” Ella confessed. “I’m hoping it’s an isolated incident and the killer was hoping to throw us off the trail by leading us on a wild-goose chase.” Ella stood up and took the autopsy report from the desk. “I’ll be talking to you soon. For now, I better get my hind end over to the station. Big Ed wants to meet with me.”

  “Yeah, I heard that from my cousin who works for the department. The chief has a surprise for you.”

  Ella smiled. It was hard to keep any secrets on the Rez. Everyone had too many relatives. “Care to give me a hint?”

  “Your life may get easier—or not.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Ella said, and laughed seeing the mischievous look on Carolyn’s face. The woman had a penchant for riddles. “I guess I’ll be going then.”

  Ella returned to her vehicle and drove down the valley to the station. She wanted to find out if anything new had turned up on the case. It was much too early for a report from the bureau, but she could still hope.