by Aimée
Rose thought about it, then shook her head. “My herbs won’t do anything to help me now. Just make sure someone feeds Two,” she said.
Ella smiled. At least her mother was concerned about the dog. That was a good sign. “I bet he’s already missing you, but don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”
Ella stepped aside as Clifford came toward the bed, nodding good-bye. A proper Sing would take days and couldn’t be done here. For now, Clifford would do a brief pollen blessing. Next time, when Rose was stronger, a longer prayer would be done. Invoking the power of the gods, Clifford would recount the exploits of the Holy People and take their mother on a symbolic journey that would renew her strength. Ella wished there was something concrete like that that she could do to help her mother heal, other than just making sure the house was ready.
Ella went home, showered, and fed the dog. Two was a scraggly mutt that vaguely resembled a rusty collie, if one were to squint and had a good imagination. The dog had a face only a mother could love, but from the day Rose had let the hungry, shivering stray into the house, the mutt had been fiercely loyal to and protective of everyone in her family.
As Ella began to fix herself a quick sandwich, she paused for a moment, aware of the stillness. The total silence inside the house jarred her nerves. She’d lived alone before, but this was the only place she’d ever called home. The quiet that echoed around her seemed out of place and frightening. The refrigerator came on all of a sudden, and she jumped.
Ella turned on the Navajo station and listened to country western ballads while she wrote up a quick report on the incident with the Bekis family at the hospital. She was finished, about to turn off the radio, when the morning news came on. The capture of the bank robbers was the lead story, but her mother’s accident and the facts surrounding the drunk driver responsible followed, with nearly as much coverage. Questions were being asked about the courts that had allowed the man to retain his license.
Ella nodded in approval. Too many drunks, their condition self-inflicted, were getting off with excuses, bending the law to suit themselves. She had no sympathy for anyone who drove intoxicated, but, then again, she’d never been one to ascribe to the philosophy that people were simply victims of their environment and therefore not responsible or accountable for their actions.
Poverty and the harsh living conditions on the Rez had led to a high rate of alcoholism. She understood that, but she also believed that anyone who knew right from wrong was as responsible for the choices they made, drunk or sober, as she was for hers.
Finished with her sandwich, she chugged a small glass of milk, checked her weapon, then walked out the door. She had no desire to linger here with only frustration over her mother’s accident as company.
When Ella arrived at the station, she saw a large group of reporters hovering near the main entrance, despite the relatively early hour. Most weren’t from the Rez. There were too many Anglo faces mingled in that crowd, faces she recognized from TV news shows.
Apparently they were waiting for her, and knew what she looked like. It couldn’t be the uniform, because she was a plainclothes officer. They rushed toward her like a swarm of bees, cameras running and microphones raised. She swallowed her disgust. They were not there to right any wrongs, but to get a story, the more sensational the better. They were doing their jobs, but their own careers were probably their first priority, not justice.
Ella shook the bitter thoughts aside. While with the FBI, senior agents had always handled communication with the press, so she had never learned Bureau-speak. But now that she was the senior officer of her own police unit, the job of spokesperson had fallen on her shoulders more than once over the past few years.
Ella knew that despite their sometimes shallow perception, the press had power. At the moment that power was the only tool she had. She gave them short and abrasive sound bites, truthful quotes she was sure they’d print. She cited the facts of Bekis’ arrest record, demonstrating how he’d used the system to elude justice, while continuing to violate the law. She then described her mother’s condition, wanting to reach hearts she knew had long grown cold, calloused by the litany of violence that made up the daily news nowadays.
As she spoke, she noticed Big Ed at the open window of his office, watching and listening. She refused to look directly at him. If he disapproved of what she was doing, he’d let her know soon enough. She had this one chance, and she wouldn’t back away.
* * *
As Ella entered her office, she found Justine waiting. “That was some news conference you gave out there.”
“You disapprove?”
“No, I don’t, but Big Ed wants to see you. He may have another take on this.”
Ella nodded. “I’ll go talk to him.” She looked through the phone messages, searching for something important enough to make her forget her problems, at least for a while, but everything was painfully routine.
This was the first time she’d ever felt the need to escape her own life. The revelation took her by surprise. Up to now, she would have been more likely to joke that she had no life of her own.
As she entered Big Ed’s office she saw him standing by the window, watching the newspaper and television vans driving away. “Well, at least the reporters are leaving. That’s one good thing about your impromptu statement out there.”
“You don’t approve of what I said?”
“Oh, I agree with what you said, but I don’t think you should have said it the way you did. You were too blunt about our suspect, and as an officer of this department it’s not your job, or ours, to take sides. The department has an established position on DWI that’s well known and publicized. It’s the job of the district attorney to prosecute criminals.”
“But I’m also a human being and I have a right to my opinions. My mother isn’t a cop, and I’m her daughter.”
He held up a hand. “I’m not going to argue this with you. I know that your mother’s been badly injured. And all of us here are very sorry about that. Rose is well-liked by everyone, and we’re worried about her, just like you are. But your statements out there are going to result in the press hounding our judges and politicians. What you said will be distorted by somebody along the line. Eventually, that will result in calls to me, and who knows, maybe even a lawsuit from Bekis or one of his family. Lawyers do that.”
“I didn’t say anything that couldn’t be verified as factual, and if it results in any changes to the law, making it tougher for a person arrested for DWI to retain his license or vehicle despite his expensive lawyers, wouldn’t it be worth it?”
“That’s not the function of this department, nor is it your job. That’s why we have legislators, judges, and tribal spokespeople like myself. I’m sure I’ll be called upon soon enough to restate our department’s position, probably as soon as the public reads or hears the news.”
“Then if I make any more statements, I’ll make sure that they are not linked to me as a tribal officer, but rather to me, as an individual. I’ll be off duty, and away from this facility.”
“I’ll accept that for now.”
Hearing a knock on the door, Ella followed the chief’s gaze and turned around. “I hate to interrupt,” Justine said, “but we have trouble. There’s been what appears to be a homicide.”
For one fleeting moment, Ella hoped it was Bekis. “Where, and do we know the identity of the victim?”
She nodded. “It’s Lisa Aspass. Wilson Joe apparently found the body when he went to her home to find out why she hadn’t shown up for work at the college.”
At the mention of the familiar names, Ella felt her body grow cold. Wilson had been engaged to marry Lisa. Sorrow filled her as she realized the blow her friend had sustained. Yesterday her life had seemed a challenge, but manageable. The future had held a myriad of possibilities. Now her mother was gravely injured and a good friend had just lost the woman he loved. It seemed as if only an expanse of darkness lay ahead, obscuring all the light.
FOUR
Ella was worried about her mother, but still there was work to do. She turned on the siren as she sped down the highway. Justine rode with her, searching her notes for the directions to Lisa’s home. Neither of them had been there before. Harry Ute, the crime scene investigator and Ralph Tache, the photographer, were in the van behind them.
“Wilson called it in?” Ella asked her assistant.
“Right,” Justine said. “He asked for you, and when I told him you were in a meeting, he told me what had happened. He sounded like a robot, everything he said was in a monotone. It was eerie. Maybe it was shock, but…” Justine remained quiet for a moment. “I know he’s your friend, boss. Do you think you can keep focused on this case?”
Ella glared at her assistant. “I won’t make nearly as many assumptions as you’re making, I guarantee that.”
Justine looked away, and stared at the notebook on her lap as if it had become the most interesting thing on the planet. Finally, she spoke. “You told the reporters about wanting to see justice done and how things get thrown out of court over details that aren’t relevant to the case. I just want to make sure we don’t have that happen to us on this investigation.”
“I didn’t know you’d listened so closely to my impromptu press conference.”
Justine shrugged. “There were a lot of us nearby.”
Ella opened and closed her hands, flexing her fingers, though still careful not to completely let go of the wheel. Justine had a point, and she shouldn’t have turned on her. “It’s true that Wilson Joe is a longtime friend of mine, but I also know my job. He may end up as a suspect, but it’s also quite possible he has a solid alibi for the time of death. He’s not the kind of person to kill except to protect someone else. But we won’t cut him any slack simply because I know him. This is a murder investigation. If at any time you feel anything is being done improperly, then say so right then. I may head our team, but it is a team.”
“Okay. We’ll take it one step at a time,” Justine said.
Following Justine’s directions, Ella turned and headed into the relatively new residential area she’d traveled through with Clifford the evening before. Her skin was crawling as she slowed down and nodded to the three gang members sitting on the hood of a beat-up old Chevy. It was as if they had never moved. Maybe hanging out was their job. As before, they flashed her their gang sign. It wasn’t the young gangsters that bothered her today, though. What she felt was more elusive than that, and far more dangerous.
As they drove through the neighborhood, she was surprised to see how many of the small two- or three-bedroom houses had fresh graffiti sprayed on their walls. When they pulled up to one of the dwellings, a beige mass-produced home that was one of a few untouched by the tagging, Ella saw Wilson’s familiar truck parked in the driveway beside a late-model compact car. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the Jeep. A strange, intense feeling of danger assailed her. She studied the houses around her, yet she saw nothing threatening. If anything, the street looked almost deserted, like an anthill in winter.
Justine glanced at Ella. “What’s wrong? You’ve got that look on your face.”
Ella knew that her intuition was well known among the members of the department, especially Justine, whom she’d worked with closely for nearly two years now. “It’s a feeling, that’s all. Stay on your guard,” she said, knowing no further explanation was necessary.
They approached the house slowly, hands on the butts of their pistols. A neighbor across the street appeared at a window to satisfy her curiosity. Ella reached the front door first and found it ajar. One of the keys from a large brass ring was in the lock. Looking at the other keys closely without touching any, Ella could find only one car key, and it was to Lisa’s make of vehicle, not Wilson’s truck. The keys apparently belonged to the victim.
Ella knocked on the front door anyway to let Wilson, who she presumed was still inside, know someone was there. She reached up high to avoid smearing any potential fingerprints and, as she knocked, the force moved the door back another three inches. Ella bent down and studied the latch and the edge of the door, now easily viewed. Though she hadn’t noticed it at first glance, the door had apparently been jimmied. Fresh indentations gouged the metal and the wood around it.
“It looks like somebody used a big screwdriver or a wrecking bar to force the lock. They didn’t leave much in the way of marks, though. Make sure you get good photos of this,” she said, turning to Tache and Ute, who were already putting on their skintight rubber gloves. Ella and Justine did the same, taking a pair each from Ute.
Once she was ready, Ella walked into the entryway and looked around for Wilson. “We’re police officers! Where are you?”
Wilson appeared from the kitchen, his steps halting. He looked devastated. The color had drained from his face, and his shoulders were slumped.
He gestured by pursing his lips, Navajo-style. “She’s … the body … is in the living room.”
When Ella stepped into the living room, the first thing that struck her was the chaos, a scene typical to residential burglaries. Drawers had been pulled open and their contents tossed on the floor, potted plants had been overturned and soil was everywhere. Two lamps had been smashed. The TV stand was empty, a dust-free spot where the television had rested left a telltale mark. Based upon the rectangular dust-free spot on the shelf beneath it, the VCR that belonged there was also gone.
As she took in the rest of the room, she saw Lisa’s broken body just a few feet from the couch, on the far side. Blood had soaked into the carpet beneath her, where it had dried. More specks of blood could be found on items along the floor, including papers from a drawer and a teacher’s grade book, indicating that she had been killed after at least part of the room had been tossed.
Mingling with more crimson splatter marks on the closest wall was a small smear of a transparent, gooey-looking substance. Ella drew nearer and studied it. A fleck of blood on it told her the goo hit the wall first. It appeared to be either petroleum jelly or maybe hair gel. Justine would know for sure once she tested it.
It was then she registered a faint but peculiar scent still lingering in the air. It was an acrid, burned-wool type of smell that seemed strongest near the corner. She studied the carpet and found traces of burnt cloth fibers. Perhaps the killers hadn’t escaped unscathed. Maybe Lisa had managed to burn one or more of her assailants. It was also possible that when the body was turned over, she would find Lisa’s clothing had been set on fire.
As Ella crouched by the victim’s body, she caught a glimpse of Wilson out of the corner of her eye. He was standing near the doorway, looking on, his face ashen. Wordlessly, Ella gestured to Justine to take him out of the room.
Once he was out of earshot, Ella glanced at Ute, who had begun his initial walk-through of the scene. “Next time you go to the van, call the station and have someone check with the hospital and doctors in this area and see if anyone’s treated a burn patient this morning. And while you’re processing the scene, see if you can find a lighter or matches, or any flammable liquid that might have been used by the victim or her assailants.”
Ute nodded, wrote down a few notes, then continued his initial survey.
Ella focused on the body again. It had been a brutal killing, almost certainly carried out to eliminate the witness to the burglary. Carolyn would have to make the final determination, but it looked to Ella as if Lisa had been beaten to death with a blunt object.
As Ella stood up slowly, searching for the weapon among the scattered drawer contents and debris, one thought niggled at the back of her mind. There had been a time when violence like this would have upset her greatly. Now all that was evoked in her was an incredible drive to find answers. Her reaction worried her. She’d heard of cops who had become so jaded by the crimes they were forced to deal with, that nothing ever touched them. She didn’t want to become like that.
Justine came and touched her on the shoulder. “Carolyn’s on her
way. Wilson says he didn’t touch anything except when he pushed the door open, then closed it partially behind him. He said it was ajar when he got here, with the owner’s key in the lock. He made the call on his cell phone.”
“Thanks.” Ella stood up slowly and began a methodical search from the victim out. A small, gray metal box lay on the sofa just to the right of Lisa’s head. Traces of hair and blood were stuck to one of its dented corners. Tache, now in the room with his camera, began taking photos while Ute sketched the room in his notebook. Afterwards, they would bag and tag all the evidence.
Leaving them to continue their work, Ella went to find Wilson. She found him sitting in the kitchen, staring at his hands. Ella searched him wordlessly for traces of blood, but he was clean.
“What happened here?” she asked, sitting across from him.
“I … I don’t know. She didn’t show up for her morning classes, or leave a message to say she was ill. We were going to discuss her grading system over lunch, so I decided to call and see what was going on. I got worried when she didn’t answer the phone, so I came over. Her car was in the driveway, and I noticed her sack lunch was already on the seat cushion, like she was getting ready to leave. The door was open and the keys were still in the lock, so I called out to her. When she didn’t answer, I came inside.” He paused for a moment. “I found her right where she is now.”
Ella heard Carolyn’s voice and looked up. Spotting her friend the ME as she stepped through the kitchen, Ella excused herself for a moment and followed Dr. Roanhorse into the living room.
The middle-aged, sturdily built ME stepped carefully around objects on the carpet and arrived beside the body. Ella cleared her throat, then asked softly so that Wilson wasn’t likely to hear her words. “When you turn her over, let me know if you find any burns or burn marks on her or her clothing, will you?”