by Aimée
As they stepped back outside, a strange sensation hit her. Ella blocked it, refusing to allow her imagination to spook her. The thought that had come into her mind was that something was near, watching them both.
Justine crouched by the entrance to the hogan. “If there were ever cane marks here, the wind has hidden them from us permanently.” She stood and followed Ella to the Jeep.
Ella placed the vehicle in gear, and began the rough journey back to the main highway. Silence stretched taut between her and Justine. Ella still felt the danger like a palpable force wrapping itself around her. Suddenly, as she began the turn that paralleled the cliff, the steering wheel locked. Ella yanked it hard, trying to complete the turn.
Aware instantly of the problem, Justine leaned over and pulled at the wheel, tugging at it along with Ella.
Ella slammed hard on the brakes, but on the soft earth, the vehicle continued to slide toward the drop off.
When they finally came to a stop, they were only inches from the edge. “Don’t move,” Ella whispered.
The Jeep dropped a few inches, and Justine yelped. “Can you put it in reverse?”
“First, we’ll both get out. If the ground here gives way, I want to make darned sure neither one of us is in the Jeep. There’s about a thirty-foot drop-off.”
Ella looked at Justine. “Go now, just don’t rock the vehicle as you get out.”
“I think it may be safer if we both get out at the same time.”
Ella nodded. “Okay. On three.”
They opened their doors carefully, then on the count of three, jumped out of the vehicle. Ella waited, scarcely breathing, to see if her vehicle would remain where it was. The Jeep continued running, idling in place.
Ella looked around the Jeep at the edge of the cliff. The front bumper had nothing but air below it for quite some distance. “We’ve got to push it back away from that edge.”
Working carefully, Ella turned off the engine, put the Jeep out of gear, and released the brake. Together, they pushed the Jeep back away from the drop-off. Once on secure ground, Ella set the brake, fell back against the seat, and caught her breath. “That was too damn close.”
“Yeah,” Justine agreed, her voice trembling slightly. “What the heck happened?”
Ella started the engine again, went through the gears, and tried the steering. It worked perfectly well. “I don’t get it. The wheel was locked tight. We couldn’t budge it. And now it seems fine.”
Justine shuddered. “It’s this stretch of desert … there’s something bad out here.”
“It’s not the place. Accidents can happen anywhere, and that’s all it was; a mechanical malfunction at the wrong time.” But it was the kind of mishap that, over the years, she’d learned to associate with skinwalkers. That chilling knowledge settled over her, freezing the very marrow of her bones.
NINE
Ella searched the vehicle up and down. Assured no one had tampered with it, she informed Justine that they were going to return to the hogan. Justine looked slightly unnerved at the prospect, but said nothing.
Once they arrived at the hogan, Ella got out and began looking around. Justine followed her.
“I can help, if you tell me what you’re looking for,” Justine said.
“I’m not sure. Anything out of the ordinary,” Ella answered. “We’ll work in a spiral search pattern, starting with the hogan.”
Ella and Justine searched carefully and methodically. As Ella reached the base of a low hill that overlooked the hogan, she saw coyote tracks leading from the rocks into a narrow wash filled with hard-packed earth. She suppressed the shudder that ran up her spine.
Justine came to stand beside her. “Anything that survives out here has to be very wily. I don’t think there’s much game around.”
She knew what Justine was implying, that this was no ordinary coyote. “You know, if the tracks were different, I’d suspect a you-know-what, but these seem like the genuine article.” Ella was reluctant to use the term skinwalker aloud, especially in a place like this. She was no traditionalist, but it made no sense to risk using the name of a Navajo witch since it was said to attract their attention.
“Odd place to find a coyote, though, wouldn’t you say?”
Ella said nothing. Her badger fetish still felt warm against her skin, and she didn’t take the warning lightly. She’d learned respect for traditional forces and the fetish had played a large part in that. “Let’s stop at any businesses we see on the way back to the station and talk to the employees. Maybe someone can tell us where Jane has gone.”
“Okay. And here’s my tape recorder, ready to go. Just press the red button and it will be voice activated. Big Ed wanted you to keep one with you. I have a spare back at the station that I’ll use.”
Ella took the tiny device reluctantly. “Thanks. I’ll keep us both in batteries.”
They stopped at the first two grocery/gas stations along the route with no results. Seeing a long established trading post ahead, Justine’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been in that place. It’s the kind of old-time store that would appeal to a traditionalist.”
“Okay, let’s go inside,” Ella said, unwilling to let even one stone go unturned.
Mrs. Willink, a woman in her late thirties, stood behind the counter and eyed them with suspicion as they entered. Her wary look intensified when Ella identified herself.
The clerk’s wind-browned face held equal measures of cynicism and intelligence. Mrs. Willink stood up and Ella noted her traditionalist clothing—a long, dark blue skirt, and a red blouse. The lines that crisscrossed her leather skin spoke of years of hardship and the toughness that engendered.
Ella introduced herself and Justine, and explained where they had just been, without mentioning Jane Clah by name.
“You’re related to that woman, aren’t you? What has she done that the police would come calling?”
“Nothing at all that we know about. We just want to ask her a few questions.”
“If she’d wanted to speak with you, she would have made it simple for you to find her. Why don’t you leave her alone? Trying to track her down won’t help at all,” Mrs. Willink said.
“I have to find her. She has information that might help me right a wrong. I would appreciate any help you can give me.”
Mrs. Willink did not answer right away. Instead, she looked across the small room to where some Navajo rugs were folded and stacked on a table. “Good weavers are said to know enough to leave a flaw in each rug they weave. They’re masters of a craft, but it’s by learning that flaw that they find their strength and a sense of perfection. When you search for answers, you try to find completion and harmony without acknowledging the imperfections, the flaws.”
Ella’s eagerness tore at her patience. “Speak plainly,” Ella said.
“To find answers, you should look for whatever doesn’t fit the pattern of the whole.” Mrs. Willink stood up slowly and, without another word, stepped into the back room.
Ella stared at the empty doorway for several pensive seconds then walked back outside with Justine. “Mrs. Willink just stated the obvious—which I’d somehow managed to miss,” Ella said.
“I don’t get it,” Justine said. “I thought she was being very cryptic.”
“The pattern is plain. Jane Clah’s family was involved with witchcraft. Chances are that she knows plenty about it. She’s also a very intelligent woman. It’s very possible she had a plan all along. Think about it. Despite the hardships it presented a woman her age, she moved out to a remote area, something that was guaranteed to make people start talking about her. She knew that sometimes elderly people are feared. Their bíjí, spiritual power, is strong, and that includes their power to do evil. Then, once talk died down, and speculations ceased for lack of interest, she disappears. The old woman knew I’d be coming again to talk with her, so she took the best route open to her—making sure I can’t find her. But the flaw in her plan is that by disappearing, she’s confirming a
ll of my suspicions.”
“It fits,” Justine admitted. “And Mrs. Willink was giving you information indirectly, which protects her somewhat from Jane Clah’s wrath. Does Jane resent you for what happened to your father-in-law?”
“I’d find it difficult to believe otherwise.” Ella turned the key in the ignition. “Keep searching for her and quietly asking around. Don’t give up. She’s still in the Four Corners area. I’d be willing to bet on it.”
“Even so, the Rez is a big place to hide in.”
“And digging is what cops do best,” Ella said.
Ella pulled into the Shiprock Police Station still feeling unsettled by the incident near the cliff and Mrs. Willink’s information. She had a feeling Mrs. Willink knew far more than she’d said, but Ella also knew the woman would not give her any more help. Obviously, Ella wasn’t the only one who suspected Jane Clah of being a skinwalker. The clerk was being careful not to make an enemy of a Navajo witch.
Ella drove over to the garage area of the station, planning on turning the vehicle over to a mechanic for a thorough overhaul. Everything had worked perfectly on the drive back, however. She clasped her hand around the badger fetish, noting that it finally felt cool.
“What are you going to tell the mechanic?” Justine asked, getting out.
“Exactly what happened, minus our supernatural speculations. Maybe those kids who shot up my mother’s house did something to the car, and it didn’t show up until now.”
“What if they tell you nothing’s wrong?”
Ella paused. Fact was, she expected to be told that very thing. “Well, there’s a chance it was a freak thing, like sand caught in the wrong place.”
“Or maybe some kind of witch magic?”
“Do you believe in such things?” Ella asked, her gaze resting on Justine.
Justine stared at her hands. “There was a time when I would have answered with an emphatic no, but I’m not so certain about things anymore. I’ve seen too many strange things in the past few years.”
“Welcome to the club.”
A young Navajo mechanic approached Ella as she got out, and Justine waved good-bye, heading inside. Learning that Ella wanted the Jeep checked, the mechanic handed her a clipboard with a form in triplicate and a rubber band attached through a hole in the form. Ella filled it out quickly, attached the Jeep’s key to the rubber band, then left the paperwork under the windshield wiper and went inside the station.
Ella continued on to her office. A new thought slowly dawned on her, opening a new line of speculation. What if Lisa Aspass had been killed because she was Wilson’s fiancée? Wilson had been a crucial ally, along with her brother Clifford, in helping Ella break the skinwalkers’ power a few years ago.
This could be the beginning of an effort to retaliate. Revenge ran on Indian time here on the Rez. If Lisa had been killed by skinwalkers, the crime scene could have been easily manipulated by them to make it appear that the youth gangs were to blame.
What better way to punish an enemy than by killing a loved one and, as icing on the cake, they’d throw suspicion on a much despised group. It was brilliant in a sick way, and a possibility definitely worth checking out. Even the shooting at her home and the gang tag on her Jeep afterward could have been an effort at misdirection by her oldest enemies.
Ella decided it was time to try and call her old friend, Wilson. Luckily, she caught him in his college office, probably between classes. “Hello, this is Ella. I wanted to let you know I’m making progress on the case, and to ask how you’re doing. Are you keeping busy? Work sometimes helps in times like this.”
His voice was low, as if he’d run out of energy already, but it still held all the bitterness of their last conversation. “I don’t have time to discuss your theories on stress management. Do you have anybody in custody, or at least a suspect?”
“We definitely have some leads, and hope to have a break in the case soon. But I really can’t say truthfully that we know who’s responsible for her death.”
“What you’re saying is that you really don’t have any idea who killed my fiancée, right?” Wilson’s voice grew louder, and took on a harsh edge.
“No. We believe the killers come from a group of maybe twenty or so individuals. I really can’t tell you more than that without risking compromising the investigation.” Ella didn’t want to tell him that two of the Many Devils gang were their best candidates. They didn’t need another vigilante out there in addition to the Fierce Ones.
“Sounds like you’re talking about one of the gangs. Talk is all over campus about the turmoil boiling out of the high school. Which gang is it?” Wilson was speaking in a cool, analytical voice she’d heard before. It was when the man was at his most dangerous.
“Instead of pressuring me for answers I really don’t have, I’d like you to do something for me, instead.” Ella had to change the topic. Wilson had known her since they were kids, and he just might get more from her than she wanted to give if she kept talking about it.
“You want to change the subject, right Ella?”
“What I want, Wilson, is for you to be very careful about where you go and what you do. It probably has nothing to do with the case we’ve been talking about, but I can’t risk taking any chances. You have to be warned. Our old enemies are back in town, and they may be after you and me, and my family.”
“Skinwalkers?” Wilson laughed. “Not unless they’ve joined a gang. You’re just trying a little misdirection. Leave the magic to your brother, the medicine man.”
“Now you’re becoming a danger to yourself, old friend. Don’t for a moment ignore the possibility that they could strike out at any time. Have you forgotten who it was that was forced to kill their leader just two years ago?” Ella couldn’t believe how flippant Wilson was being about such a serious matter. Normally neither one would actually use the term skinwalker out loud.
“I’ll be careful, if you’ll do something for me in return. Use that dammed intuition of yours to find Lisa’s killers. You’re more likely to find them in a low rider than a graveyard, so don’t play games with me. Put all that fancy training to work and get the job done. Then we can all sleep at night again.” Wilson hung up before she could speak.
She held onto the phone, shocked by his coldness. They had been best friends as recently as a year ago, now the only words he had for her were full of bitterness and, from her, strictly business. With her now in the middle of his biggest tragedy, the closeness they’d once shared might be lost forever.
Still, Ella could not lose hope. Wilson had been there for her after the loss of her father, and stuck by her despite her distrust. She owned Wilson that much in return; besides, giving up was way out of character for her.
Ella hung up the phone, staring at the clutter on her desk that had appeared in her absence, trying to decide where to begin. Just then, Big Ed walked into her office.
“Ella. I need you to drive to Farmington right now and meet your attorney at this law office.” He handed her a memo with a Farmington address.
Ella sat up abruptly, taking the paper. “That’s short notice. What’s going on?”
“There is some good news for you, at least I think it is. Gladys Bekis has decided to withdraw her charges of excessive force and instead is filing a civil suit. I guess she wants to go for money instead of justice. I pulled a few hundred strings,” he said with a sheepish smile, “talked to your lawyer, and made arrangements for Dr. Roanhorse to examine Gladys Bekis for evidence that you struck her. There was only one hitch I couldn’t get past. This will have to be done now in order to accommodate her attorney’s schedule. He’s all for it now, because physical evidence of her ‘injuries’ will soon disappear. Consider yourself off duty for as long as the meeting takes. The tribe can’t pay you when you’re on private business.”
“Thanks, Chief. I have a feeling this is going to help me out. Carolyn really knows her profession.”
Ella had to use one of the department’s s
edans while her Jeep was being checked out. She was always on call, so the department provided her with a full-time vehicle. As she drove, she thought about all that had happened to her life in the past few days. She was under fire no matter what direction she faced, whether it be an old friend, or an old enemy. There was one thing she was determined not to do, however. She would not give her enemies the opportunity to defeat her without one hell of a fight.
By the time she arrived at the downtown Farmington address, the second floor of an old brick landmark on Main Street, Ella had schooled her expression into polite neutrality. No matter what happened, she wouldn’t let anyone get to her, or cause her to lose her temper.
Kevin Tolino met her in the hall. “Come on. They’ve already started. Dr. Roanhorse arrived early, and everyone’s eager to get this over with.”
She nodded once. “This could go against me, too, right?”
“Yes, but it’s not likely to. The bruise has already been documented and photographed. That’s why her attorney agreed. What we need to do is find flaws or inconsistencies in the injury or her explanation for it, and if anyone can do that, our ME can. That’s the one piece of information their attorney doesn’t have, by the way. He knows that Dr. Roanhorse is an MD, but he doesn’t know she’s a criminologist, too. Somehow, that never came up in the conversation,” he added with a grin.
Ella smiled. She trusted Carolyn implicitly, but more importantly, she trusted Carolyn’s forensic skills and intuition. “I’m in good hands with her.”
“You’ve got a damn good lawyer, too,” he added.
She smiled. “Let’s get to it.”
“Don’t speak to Mrs. Bekis, no matter what happens. If she goads you, or if her attorney says something out of line, just keep silent. This guy is an expert in getting people to hang themselves with their own words. He’s a tricky bastard, and he’s grandstanding on this one. He’s the same Anglo who offered to take on any cases of police brutality in that newspaper article.”