Death Walker

by Aimée

  As she headed back to the office, the dispatcher put through a call from Justine. “I’ve found a store that carries the jeans we’re trying to track down. It’s not on the Rez, but just outside it, at that big factory outlet shopping center between Kirtland and Farmington. I’ve checked with Big Ed and called the county sheriff. There’s no problem if we go in and ask a few questions.”

  Ella felt her heart begin to race as it always did when the trail was getting warm. “Good job! Tell me exactly where it is. I’ve never been there—who has time for shopping?” Ella wrote down the directions. “You’re at the office now?”

  “Yeah, I’m on my way out. I can meet you there, if you want.”

  “I do, but I’m going to need you to locate a photo of John Begay, and get a copy of the photo taken when we booked Anton Lewis. Then find five other photos of guys who fit the same general description. Let’s see if the salesclerk can pick out either of our suspects.”

  “I’ll see you there,” Justine answered.

  After leaving the reservation, Ella made her way to Kirtland, a growing community between Shiprock and Farmington. Kirtland had many Navajo residents, and there had been a great rivalry between the Kirtland Broncos and the Shiprock Chieftains for years.

  As Ella was getting out of her Jeep beside the store Justine had mentioned, Ella saw Justine’s car turn off the highway and into the lot. She waited as Justine pulled into the parking space next to hers.

  Justine left the vehicle quickly. “I’ve got the photos. The college had a recent one of Begay, and I had them fax me a copy. I’ve made fax copies of every photo, so we won’t influence witnesses with different quality images. Except the sketch, of course. You ready?”

  Ella nodded once. “Let’s get to work.”

  Ella led the way inside the large factory outlet. From what she could tell, the store specialized in casual clothes, but carried only exclusive name brands. She picked up the tag from a denim jacket and expelled her breath in a rush. Expensive name brands. Even at outlet prices, if the Packrat had bought his jeans here, he’d left a great deal poorer.

  Ella walked up to the counter, identified herself, and asked to see the manager. A young man who appeared to be in his early twenties came out of a back room and gave her the slightly patronizing smile of a salesman.

  “I need your help,” Ella said, deciding the direct approach would save them all time and effort. “Do you normally sell a lot of Kevin Jordan jeans?”

  The manager shrugged. “Not many. That’s the most exclusive line of men’s wear in the Southwest. Most Kevin Jordan jeans are purchased by out-of-state tourists with their charge cards. I’d say we sell a pair or two a week. Most of the local trade buy those less expensive cotton and polyester boot-cut brands.”

  “Could you ask your staff if they remember selling a pair recently to a Navajo man, young, medium height, and perhaps of slender build?”

  A young woman clerk who had been straightening the jeans approached hesitantly. “I did, about three weeks ago. I remember, because it was one of the few times I’ve seen any local people willing to shell out the cash for something like that instead of using a charge card.”

  Ella gestured for Justine to produce the photos, and Justine laid them out on the glass counter. She’d selected half a dozen shots, including the sketch Victor had made.

  The young woman looked at all of them carefully, then finally shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know he was Navajo, but that’s all I can tell you for sure. I have a problem remembering faces. Some of the men customers, if you look them in the eye, think you’re flirting with them. You know what I mean?” She looked at Justine for verification, which Ella found slightly annoying. Justine nodded solemnly.

  The clerk smiled hopefully. “But if he walked back in here, I think I could recognize him. It works that way for me.”

  “If he does, will you call me?” Ella asked, producing her card.

  “Sure. No problem. All these faces look about right though, except that drawing. This guy was clean-shaven and his hair was short. I think in one of those shaved styles high school boys are wearing nowadays. He was young looking. I remember thinking that he looked too young to be making that kind of money, unless he saved a lot.”

  After a few more fruitless questions, Ella walked back to the parking lot with Justine. “This is very aggravating,” she commented.

  “I saw your reaction when the clerk mentioned guys flirting, then looked at me instead of you for approval. Is that what aggravated you?” Justine teased.

  “Do you like your job in the department?” Ella grumbled. Then she grinned, unable to keep a straight face.

  Justine chuckled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted your chain of thought. I do know what you mean. People don’t look at people anymore. Half of them don’t care, and the other half are afraid to.”

  “Only cops are perpetually nosy,” Ella answered.

  “So now what?” Justine asked.

  “Something’s bugging me about this whole thing. What do you say we walk to that coffee shop across the parking lot, have something quick to eat, and talk it over? I’d like to bounce some ideas around.”

  “Sure.” Justine fell into step beside Ella as they crossed the shopping center parking area. When they entered the coffee shop, she waited as Ella picked out a rear table that faced the room.

  After ordering two iced teas, Ella stared pensively at the shopping center traffic just outside the large window. “It’s the motives that just don’t add up. I can believe that Lewis might be crazy enough to kill the old ones so he could proclaim himself an authority. He threatened our lives last night, which is consistent with the notion he’s unbalanced. Yet, that blood and dead dog was more malicious than deadly.

  “Begay is a whole different can of worms.” She told Justine about her meeting. “He’s the most likely suspect based on circumstantial evidence, at least with the hataalii who was his teacher, but I can’t see him caring about Navajo culture one way or the other.” She paused, then added, “Unless, of course, the murders stem from a personal grudge. He is supposed to have flunked out, and now I get the impression that he feels overworked and underpaid.”

  Justine shook her head, unconvinced. “No, that doesn’t sound right. I spoke to Furman about Begay earlier this morning. He says that the only trouble with him was he just didn’t care about anything. He flunked out because he never did any work. Furman could never figure out why he’d taken any classes at all. Maybe he went just to please his parents or something.”

  Ella toyed with her spoon. “I can’t figure out how either of these men fit in with Peterson either. Lewis is too unpredictable; I don’t think even Peterson could ever really control him. Begay, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the idealistic type. He works hard to make a living, and his concerns are down to earth. The garage, in fact, seems to be the focal point of his life.”

  “Or that’s the impression he wants you to have of him.”

  “True enough. He does have opportunity, and just because we haven’t figured out a motive doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Ella conceded.

  “Oh, one interesting fact. I checked with members of the church choir about the money missing from the victim’s purse. Mrs. Jim said that Sadie mentioned she’d be going to the flea markets the next day. She always carried plenty of cash for those. She loved shopping for bargains.”

  “Neither of the other two murders had a robbery linked with it,” Ella reminded her.

  “There was a lot of blood at Sadie’s murder site. Maybe the killer got some on his clothes and felt that the victim should ‘buy’ him new ones,” Justine suggested.

  “That money would have bought him a new pair of designer jeans,” Ella theorized. “Barely.”

  “There are so many questions. We never seem to run out of them,” Justine mused.

  “We better get back to the office. I need to work on a report, and you have your leads to follow up.”

  * * *<
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  Two hours later, back at the police station, Ella stared at the form she’d been filling out. Paperwork had to be the worst part of a cop’s job. Hearing footsteps and eager for a diversion, she glanced up.

  Justine knocked on her open door, then walked inside, Furman Brownhat half a step behind her. “I think there’s something you should hear for yourself.” Justine gave Furman a nod.

  Furman shifted nervously, as if about to give a speech before a big audience. “I don’t know if this makes any difference,” he said hesitantly, “but I heard some more gossip about Anton Lewis. I thought you might want to know that he’s spent several mornings recently on campus passing out leaflets. Whenever anyone questioned him about his so-called religion, he came completely unglued and started arguing as loudly as possible. It’s as if he wanted to make sure everyone could hear him.” He handed Ella a leaflet. “Here. I brought you one I found tacked to a bulletin board. Figured you’d want to see it.”

  Ella looked at the sheet proclaiming power for any who followed him and extolling the values of merging Navajo gods with the Anglo world’s devils. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said at last. “Skinwalkers aren’t devil worshipers. The two are incompatible.”

  “Well, apparently someone else brought that up, and Lewis tried to punch him out. It took six guys to pull the two of them apart. Lewis was finally kicked off the campus by security.”

  Ella glanced at Furman, looking him over carefully for the first time and wondering why she hadn’t paid that much attention to him before. His hair was cut short, in a current off-reservation trend where the lower half was almost shaven. He was wearing baggy tan slacks and a colorful Hawaiian print shirt. On his feet were Nike cross-trainers that were about the right size. “Thanks for bringing this to us, Furman. We’ll check it out.”

  “I just wanted to help,” he affirmed. “If there’s anything else I can do, just ask, okay? I don’t like how these murders are changing people.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Nobody trusts anybody else. It feels like there’s a war brewing.” He shrugged. “But you two are cops. You know what I mean.”

  Ella nodded. “Thanks again,” she said.

  Justine walked out with Furman and returned several moments later. “I saw you looking at his cross-trainers. I had seen them before, but I’ve also noticed he usually wears brown loafers. He’s also within our size profile. But he’s not our man.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know him. He’s a hard worker, trying to make something out of his life and himself. He’s a good student, and he’s valued at his job. He works part-time, but he’s been offered a full-time position.”

  “Is this what he’s told you?”

  Justine’s eyes flashed with anger. “Yes, but I also checked it all out. I have a friend who works at that bank. I called in a favor.”

  Ella nodded. Something was still bothering her about Furman. He had been conveniently on hand last night. It was possible he’d been following Justine. Ella did know he was interested romantically in her, but there could be more to him than that. His coming to the station, and his apprehension, sparked a memory of something she’d heard at the bureau. Serial killers liked to play games with the police to prove they were smarter. They were always pushing to test themselves, and their courage. Furman’s attitude had reminded her of that. On the other hand, it was also true that many people who came to the station felt intimidated by the armed police officers. Furman was still searching for identity, and this could have been the case with him.

  “Well, I better get back to the lab. I’m still going through the suspect’s vehicle, and waiting to hear from Ritamae. She promised to get me the name of the person who was assigned that car one way or another. We also need to find out if he, or she, wears Kevin Jordan jeans. If the person does, that will corroborate the other evidence we’ve already gathered. I’m hoping to have something before the end of today.”

  “Getting the name of the staff member who uses that vehicle shouldn’t be this complicated. What’s the hold-up?”

  “The list is in the office of the administrative supervisor, but no one’s been able to find it. The guy’s been out of town, and not scheduled back until today.”

  “Get what we need, but make sure you don’t give out any more information than you absolutely have to. We don’t want to alert the Packrat that we’re tightening the net.”

  “Already done, boss. I’ve passed the story around that the fleet car we towed had been tracked to a batch stolen from a dealer in Albuquerque. But that’ll buy us a few days at most. You know how it is around here.”

  Ella watched Justine leave. It was clear to her that Justine was far more involved with Furman than she was admitting. She’d definitely risen to his defense. Still, Ella wasn’t sure if it was a matter of pride with her because Furman was a contact she’d found on her own, or an indication that her involvement with him transcended business.

  Ella sat back for a moment, considering the problem. Finally she stood up and walked to Big Ed’s office. It was time she checked out Furman for herself. Although she wanted to keep her plan under wraps, Big Ed would have to know, just in case of trouble.

  * * *

  Ella drove east again, off the reservation and back to Farmington. She’d made a cursory background check on Furman before leaving. He wasn’t scheduled at the bank today, but he did have two classes. One started at five in the evening and the other at seven. From the information Wilson had given her, she knew Furman never missed class. Ella intended to take full advantage of the opportunity to do a more thorough check on this man.

  First she’d find out more about where he lived. That often told a great deal about a person. If possible, she’d speak to a neighbor or two, and maybe dig up something useful.

  Ella drove down a tree-lined street in an older, established Farmington neighborhood. She had no doubt that even part-time, Furman’s computer expertise enabled him to command a decent salary. From the neighborhood, it was clear that although he wasn’t wealthy, he certainly lived more comfortably than most Navajos.

  She parked across the street from the small apartment building. It was the kind of place young people moved into as their last step before buying a home. There was a communal lawn maintained by management, short driveways in front of each unit, and a pool where a few residents were sunbathing. It was a pleasant-looking place and blended well with the private homes in the neighborhood.

  Ella parked at the curb, then walked along the sidewalk until she came to the apartment listed as Furman’s. It must have been trash day, because almost every apartment had one or two green plastic trash bags out by the curb.

  She glanced up and down the street. There was no one outside in the ninety-degree heat except the people by the pool. From the drawn curtains, she figured that most either worked, or holed up during this part of the day.

  Ella walked back to her car, then drove farther down until she was directly in front of Furman’s apartment. Stepping out quickly, she grabbed the trash bag and shoved it on the floorboard in the back of the Jeep.

  Ella was about to close the door when Furman’s neighbor came out. The woman, a slightly overweight blonde in her mid-twenties, came toward her. For a second Ella wondered if she was going to have to explain about stealing trash. Ella closed the Jeep door quickly and walked up to meet the woman halfway.

  The neighbor gave Ella a hesitant smile. “Are you a friend of Mr. Brownhat’s? I’ve been trying to catch him all week!”

  “Yes I am, but it turns out he’s not home right now.”

  “Well, I’m about to go to Colorado on vacation, but I wanted to thank him for acting so quickly on our complaint. We’d left a note on his door about his cat. It was digging up our bulbs and really making a mess. And he took care of the problem right away. We haven’t even seen the cat since then. When you talk to Mr. Brownhat, will you tell him that we really do appreciate it?”

  “Sure
. No problem. I’ll catch up to him soon,” Ella assured the woman.

  A second later, Ella was on her way. She hadn’t gone more than a block when a putrid smell began to fill the air-conditioned car.

  A missing cat, and now the trash with this suffocating odor. She rolled down the windows and headed back to the station. That was the only place she could conduct a search without having to look over her shoulder constantly and guard against an ambush. With Peterson on the loose, she couldn’t afford to take anything for granted.

  She sped down the highway, trying to breathe only through her mouth. Before long she’d know exactly what Furman Brown-hat considered garbage.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Ella parked behind the station, near their Dumpster. Placing several evidence pouches beside her, and wearing rubber gloves, she began to work. The moment she opened the tie on the bag, an awful, heavy smell rose up into the air, engulfing her. Something wrapped in another plastic bag within caught her attention. She pulled it out carefully, dreading having to check whatever was hidden inside.

  She felt a small leg beneath the white plastic, then another. It was an animal carcass, she was certain of it. She tried not to cringe as she unwound the metal tie and reached inside the bag. It was bony, like something that had been stripped of its skin.

  The smell made her gag. As she pulled a leg out, she realized it wasn’t the right type of carcass for a cat. A second later she was staring at the remains of a baked chicken.

  Hearing someone clearing their throat, Ella snapped her head around. Justine was standing there, a hand pressed over her nose. “If you’re that hungry, I can suggest several restaurants.”

  “Don’t bother. There’s still some meat on this!” Ella held out a leg as she cracked a smile, trying to remember to breathe through her mouth only. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Officer Nez saw you here when he pulled in. What on earth are you doing?”