by Aimée
“What about telephone calls?”
“He talks to his lawyer, of course, and those conversations are privileged, but that’s about it. I spoke with my cousin’s wife who works there, and she said that the staff is intimidated by him, and so are the other patients. She claims that weird things are always happening around Yazzie. It got so bad that Administration was forced to hire more guards to keep everyone calm.”
“Weird how? This is a mental facility, right? You would expect things to be a little, well, different.”
“I asked her that too. She said that one of the nurses had lost an earring and for days had everyone looking for it. Peterson handed it to her one morning when she was there with the orderlies taking his vital signs for a routine checkup. She swears she’d never been in his room before, and the duty logs back that up. And Peterson had been confined to his room that whole week after throwing a tray at an orderly. Of course there are many possible explanations, but things like that unnerve those who’ve heard rumors of his … powers.”
“So basically it’s quite possible he intimidated someone into carrying a letter out for him,” Ella concluded.
“That’s about it, and likewise for him to have heard something he could use as a basis for his reference to the ash painting. Gossip travels at lightning speed.”
“I’d like to go over there first thing tomorrow to see what else I can find out.”
“I’d recommend it, then get back to me. Anything new on the murder so far?”
“Not yet.”
* * *
After dinner, Ella sat in the living room with her mother. Ella had been trying to learn to knit and was starting with a basic sweater, but the results were far from stellar. She ripped out the last three rows, noticing she’d made a mistake in the pattern. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out for domestic things.
Still, it was something to do for now. Inactivity bothered her. The letter had disturbed her more than she dared let on. She planned on staying close to the house tonight. Although she doubted anyone would openly attack her home, lessons of the past were hard to forget and dangerous to ignore. She thought for a moment about Dog, out chasing rabbits and reconfirming his territory. He’d bark if anyone approached.
“I’m glad you’re home tonight,” Rose said, spinning wool on her wheel.
“Are you worried, Mom? I really don’t think…”
Rose shook her head. “No. It’s just nice to have you here, and not working on reports for once.”
“It’s good to be home.” Ella glanced at her knitting and finally put it down. “But I’ve made an amazing discovery. If I had to knit for a living, I’d starve.”
Rose laughed. “You’re too impatient, that’s all. You expect to be an expert in two days.”
“Mom, there is such a thing as aptitude.” She held up a wavy section supposed to be bottom ribbing. “This isn’t going to be my thing.”
“You have to find yourself a hobby, daughter. Something to occupy you besides your work.”
“I agree, but I’m now sure it isn’t going to involve yarn or thread.” Ella walked to her desk and retrieved the cleaning kit for her gun from the drawer. Unloading and clearing the chamber of her pistol, she began working on the slide with a soft cloth.
Rose sighed. “There has to be something I can interest you in!”
“I have to clean and oil the action, Mom, and I might as well do it now, unless it’ll bother you.”
Rose sighed. “No. Go ahead.”
An uneasy calm descended as they each worked at their respective tasks. Rose had turned on a Navajo-language radio station, and Ella kept her ears tuned for the news. There was mercifully little coverage on the bus accident and Dodge’s murder, and only a little more on yesterday’s kidnapping and suicide in Farmington. At least for now.
Ella finished cleaning her weapon, loaded it again, then carefully placed it back in the holster. It was nearly ten, and she was tired.
She walked to one of the darkened windows in the kitchen and looked outside. The moon was full, illuminating the ground clearly. Everything looked calm and peaceful. She closed her eyes as she had at Haske’s hogan and tried to draw strength from the desert itself. A vague prickle of fear seeped through her instead.
She was just too keyed up, that was all. She needed to get some sleep. The problem was she doubted she’d be successful at that tonight.
As she turned, Ella saw her mother standing there with a glass of herbal tea. “It will help you relax. I know that letter upset you.”
Ella took the tea. “I’ll take the note into the office tomorrow first thing. Maybe Justine can lift a print or two, and we’ll find out who Yazzie’s got helping him.”
Rose nodded slowly. “I’m glad your cousin is working with you. At times like these, it’s good to have family around you.”
Ella met her mother’s eyes. “You’re expecting the worst?”
“I feel the disharmony all these troubles have brought to us. I’m trying to prepare,” Rose answered frankly, then returned to the spinning wheel in the living room.
* * *
Shortly after daybreak Ella dropped the letter on Justine’s desk with her instructions. By seven, she was on her way to the psychiatric facility on the other side of Farmington, on the Bloomfield highway.
Throughout the drive she could feel her tension mounting. Peterson was a master at mind games, and he had learned to intimidate others while still a cop. Manipulating the hospital staff was something that would appeal enormously to him. What would positively delight him, however, was knowing he’d put one over on her. The thought angered Ella. She would find his accomplice and end this new charade of his.
Peterson, despite his cunning, had always underestimated her, and that had led to his downfall before. His own colossal ego would never even consider the possibility that they were evenly matched.
Ella arrived forty-five minutes later at the Hilltop Psychiatric Hospital, which was located on a barren knoll overlooking the banks of the San Juan River two miles away. Ella noted with satisfaction that the two-story building was constructed more like a jail than a hospital. Windows were missing from the ground floor entirely, and those on the second floor were too small to allow an adult to exit. Razor-wire topped tall inner and outer fences, and guards at the gates made unauthorized visits or departures unlikely.
When an armed security guard escorted her through the locked entrance, Ella noted the quiet efficiency of the place and approved.
After identifying herself, Ella was ushered to Dr. Ray Kring’s office by an orderly. As director of the facility, Kring had acquired a reputation for keeping things running smoothly.
Ella’s news concerning the letter took the salt-and-pepper-haired Anglo by complete surprise.
“I cannot imagine who would have mailed that for him. The only letters he’s ever written are to his attorney. I see the sealed envelopes myself. I’ve made it a point to know everything that concerns that patient.”
“I’m not here to blame anyone, Dr. Kring, but I do think this matter warrants looking into.”
“Yes, of course. Let me show you the security we maintain around Yazzie. I don’t take anything for granted when it comes to any of our patients. We’ve increased the number of armed guards on each shift to four, and there are twice that number of trained orderlies on hand.”
“Has Yazzie had any visitors lately?”
“Only his lawyer.” Dr. Kring stood, and Ella noted how tall the doctor was. At five foot ten, she wasn’t used to looking up at women or men on the Rez.
“How about friends or relatives?”
“Friends—him?” Kring strode to the door, holding it open as she passed through. “I don’t believe he’s capable of that.” He stopped by his secretary’s desk and glanced at a record book she handed him. “Perfect. He’s in the exercise yard right now. You can see for yourself.” Seeing the puzzled look she gave the log book, he added, “I require a record of where Yazzie is being held at all times.”
The precaution made her stomach tighten. She could sense their fear, and in her own experience with Peterson, knew it was justified. Kring led the way down a long, well-lit hall, then up the stairs. Along one wall were several tiny windows. A Navajo guard stood at one, watching below.
Kring gestured for her to join him. “Yazzie can’t see you through this glass. It’s one-way.”
Ella stepped up and looked down at the interior exercise yard below. The presence of one guard for each inmate, and the doughnut shape of the hospital, made even that area high security. She located Peterson Yazzie a second later sitting on one of the concrete benches as two other maximum-security patient-inmates played a game of basketball. Peterson’s face was neutral, and he made no move to join the game, though she knew he was particularly fond of the sport.
Ella noticed how neither of the players would look in Peterson’s direction, even when they had to go near him to retrieve the ball. “They’re scared of him, aren’t they?”
“Terrified is more like it,” Kring answered. “He played once, and neither man would guard him close or try to block his shots. Yazzie got really mad. Then, two days later, both guys started coming down with the flu. Of course the story got around that he’d caused the illness. Some continue to argue the guy’s just a con artist, but I notice it’s never within earshot of Yazzie.”
The guard watching from the next window cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind an opinion…”
Ella glanced at the Navajo man. “Please, go ahead.”
“I know that man from the Rez, and after being assigned to watch him, I’ve learned what makes him tick. He’s a born actor. He’s aware of the stories about him, and he plays to his audience. He doesn’t want to be approachable; he remains more a mystery this way.”
“So you think it’s all a good act?” Ella pressed.
“No, not at all. It took more than that to accomplish the things he did on the Rez. What I’m saying is that he’s very intuitive about people. He knows how to manipulate situations that are already there so that people end up believing and doing exactly what he wants them to.”
Ella nodded slowly, then shifted her gaze down to the yard. To her surprise, Peterson Yazzie was looking up. He seemed to be staring at her, but that was impossible. This was one-way glass. Her breath caught in her throat when he smiled and waved.
The eye contact was direct. It wasn’t a matter of looking in her direction; he was looking straight at her. “He knows I’m here.” She snapped her head around and looked at Kring.
Kring shrugged. “Not by seeing through this, he doesn’t. And you didn’t give us any advance warning you were coming. He may be doing this because he knows a fourth guard is always watching from here.”
Logical, but Peterson had looked at her, not in the direction of the guard next to the window. Her body prickled with unease. He knew. She was as certain of that as she was of her own name. She tried to recall who else she had seen on the way upstairs. The orderly, Kring’s secretary, and perhaps one or two doctors and nurses in the hall.
“Who’s spoken to him in the past fifteen minutes?” She glanced at the guard.
“No one, and he’s been out there with three guards and two other inmates for a half hour now. You’ve seen for yourself. Nobody goes close to him.”
Still, somebody had signaled him, somehow. There was an explanation if she had the time to find it.
“He has only one confidant, his lawyer,” the guard assured her. “And if you ask me, that guy’s scared shitless of him too.” He cleared his throat. “Pardon my language.”
Ella considered the information as she accompanied Kring back to his office. “When’s the last time Yazzie’s lawyer was here?”
Kring stopped by the secretary’s desk and picked up the log for Peterson again. He flipped to a section near the back and handed the notebook to Ella. “I’ve had my secretary note the dates of each contact he’s had with his attorney, including letters Yazzie mailed out to him.”
Ella studied the list. A letter had preceded the bombing attempt at the station by three days. “Do you happen to have his lawyer’s address handy?”
Kring returned with Ella to his office, flipped through an address file on his desk, then copied the information onto a sheet of notepaper. “Here you go. His name is Bruce Cohen and he lives in Farmington. I’ve only got his office address and number, but you shouldn’t have any trouble tracking him down.”
Ella went back to her car. The memory of Peterson’s soulless stare as he looked directly into her eyes still made her skin crawl. It was all trickery, of course, but there was no doubt the man was a master of deception.
Ella picked up the radio mike and reported in. Justine was away from the station reinterviewing students and would be out of touch most of the morning and early afternoon. The area of the Rez she’d be in made reliable radio communications nearly impossible.
Ella gave Big Ed a sketchy report, then racked the mike. As she continued on to Farmington, she speculated on what approach to take with Peterson’s attorney. She’d met Bruce Cohen during the trial. He was young and inexperienced, but a very hard worker. He’d also been the only public defender willing to take Peterson’s case without being coerced.
When Ella walked into the public defender’s office twenty minutes later, she realized just how overworked Cohen was. His desk was a foot deep in file folders, and other records were stacked in a cardboard box on the floor.
He glanced up through red-rimmed eyes that looked like road maps to hell. “Make it fast, Special Investigator Clah. I’ve got two defenses to put together for preliminary hearings this afternoon.”
Ella pulled up a wooden chair from against the wall and sat across the desk from him. “You know why I’m here.” She decided to make him assume she knew more than she actually did.
Cohen cleared his throat and broke eye contact. “I have no idea,” he lied badly. “And I’m much too busy to play games.”
Ella leaned back, deliberately allowing a stretch of silence to fill the air. “Peterson Yazzie, your client, is getting into more legal trouble, Counselor. This comes at a time when he’s already been charged with almost every major offense on the books. And you may have the opportunity to share in that—but not as his attorney.”
“Is this a threat of some sort?” Cohen challenged with a bravado that he couldn’t quite carry.
“Counselor, look at the facts. Your client has very little contact with the outside. You’re it, actually. So let’s talk about the letters.”
“If you’re censoring my client’s mail without due process—”
“Not yet, but I could arrange for him not to be given any writing materials at all.”
“What letters are you referring to? What was in them?”
“I received an interesting letter from Peterson, Counselor, which someone was kind enough to mail out for him.” Ella then decided to do some bluffing of her own. “We were able to lift one fingerprint. It’s not Peterson’s. I think it’s yours. You might find it tricky to explain to the review boards, not to mention the courts, why you’re smuggling threatening letters out for your client.”
Bruce Cohen leaned back in his chair, and for a tiny moment she knew what he’d look like as an old man. “You don’t know what I’m dealing with here. This isn’t an ordinary client.”
“What I know is that you’re scared to death of him.”
“You would be too, if you had any brain cells at all,” Cohen snapped. “Yazzie’s a monster. He’s not like you and me. Hell, he’s not like anyone at all. He belongs in that institution. His freedom is virtually nonexistent, yet he can still make things happen on the outside.”
“Like what?”
Cohen stood. “Yazzie is insane, but he’s not stupid. Far from it.”
“Has he threatened you?”
“Me, personally?” Cohen shook his head. “Yazzie wouldn’t touch me. He wants me to file an appeal.”
Ella fe
lt a dozen questions rush through her mind as she considered his reply. “Your family?”
Cohen walked to the window, looked around, then returned to his desk. “It’s not what he says, but what he lets me know indirectly.” He shrugged. “I’m starting to sound as loony as he is.”
“No. Not to me. Remember, I know him too. I was the one who put him behind bars.”
Cohen gave her a long, thoughtful look. “You have no legal right to stop my client’s mail. We both know that. If you push it, you’ll lose.”
“If your client wins, neither one of us does.”
Cohen’s eyes narrowed as the message struck home. “What would you have me do? Stop mailing his letters? You have no idea what you’re asking.”
Ella acknowledged the admission with a nod. “I don’t want you to stop doing anything. I want to continue getting the letters he sends me.” If Yazzie was really tied to the murder somehow, it could provide her with information on the case. “What I need from you is information. Who else is he sending things to?”
“So far, no one.”
“Next time he asks you to mail something, I want you to let me know.”
“All right,” he conceded. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”
Ella returned to her car and started the drive back to the reservation. She felt genuinely sorry for Cohen. He was in way over his head with the likes of Yazzie.
Twenty minutes later, she approached the turnoff that led to her home. Ella decided to stop and make sure everything was all right there. She wasn’t expecting trouble, really, but it would give her one less thing to worry about. As she went up the road, her gaze darted around the sagebrush and junipers, searching for any sign of threat. Everything seemed normal and quiet, but she couldn’t help but remember Haske’s warning.
When she finally pulled up in front of her home, she saw Dog asleep on the porch, belly up, and her brother’s pickup parked by the kitchen door. She was glad Clifford lived nearby and that he visited often. It reassured her to know that her mother was seldom as alone as the terrain around the house seemed to indicate.
Ella opened the front screen door a moment later. She heard her mother and brother in the kitchen and went to join them. Rose glanced up as Ella came in, and smiled. “I wasn’t expecting you home so early.”