by Aimée Thurlo
“I discarded you as a possible suspect once I saw the wards around your home. You wouldn’t have had those in place if you were the one I was after,” Luca said. “We’re hoping you’ll be able to tell us about the other anthropology students and suggest a possible suspect.”
“I wish I could help, but the students in our class are just people searching for their cultural identity. They want to know who they are. The evil one…he already knows who and what he is.”
“If you wanted to mimic the work of an evil one, where would you go to find the necessary details and information?” Valerie asked him, playing a hunch.
Cháala thought about it carefully before answering. “I’d ask the older ones back on the Rez. Come to think of it, they may not be willing to give away that knowledge. A better bet would be the professors at the college who specialize in that field. I’d check on the Internet, too, though I’m not sure how much accurate information is out there.”
The young man paused, but they both could see that he was still thinking, so neither of them interrupted.
“There’s an Anglo reporter who has been coming around after class. He teaches at the university, too. His name’s Steve Browning. He’s been asking everyone who even looks Navajo about the practices of an evil one. I was there when Browning asked Dr. Becenti about the blowpipes the evil ones are said to use,” Cháala said, then looked at Luca and in a guarded whisper added, “Browning worries me. When Deez threw out his trash a few days ago, I saw him going through it. Deez had just cut his hair, too.”
Valerie looked at Luca, puzzled, but didn’t interrupt as Cháala continued.
Tso stood. “I better get going or I’ll be late for work. I have a job at the university bookstore. It helps me cover my expenses.”
As they left Tso’s home, Luca could feel the questions playing in Valerie’s mind. Secrets stood between them. For the first time in his life, he wanted to punch a hole right through that wall.
LESS THAN TEN MINUTES later they reached the car. After they were well on their way, Valerie spoke.
“I have some questions I’d like you to answer. Let’s start with those brothers of yours Tso mentioned. Do you come from a big family?” she asked, knowing that there was a lot more to it than that.
“I have no brothers or sisters,” he answered after a lengthy pause.
“Then he meant the Brotherhood of Warriors.”
Luca said nothing.
“You knew what he meant,” Valerie pressed. “What’s more, you made sure he dropped the subject fast.”
“Assuming that’s true, what makes you think I’d want to talk about it now?” he asked, a wry smile touching the corners of his mouth.
She looked at him, then shook her head in frustration. “You take privacy to a whole new level.”
“You already know all you need to know about me,” he said, his voice impossibly low and sexy.
“We’ve shared something beautiful, but true closeness?” She shook her head. “You won’t allow that to happen.”
“Is that the woman or the detective speaking now?” Luca asked.
“Both are me,” she said softly. “You, of all people, should understand that.”
“I do,” he said in a quiet voice.
Yet Luca still hadn’t answered her initial question. “Okay, so tell me something else,” she said. “What was that deal about Browning collecting Deez’s trash?”
“One way a skinwalker works is by collecting samples of his victim’s hair, nail clippings and other personal items. He uses those in his rituals—to witch them.”
“And that blowpipe stuff?”
“Another method of witching. They can blow pieces of bone into you, or beads that are contaminated with something that’ll make you sick or put a curse on you.”
“Ugh.”
“Is that GPS back on?” he asked her, glancing at the device now in the center console between them.
“You bet it is,” Valerie answered. “Getting back to Browning…Do you think he’s our man?”
“Stranger things have happened, I suppose,” he said, looking in the rearview mirror on the passenger’s side. “A reporter needs a story big enough to resurrect his career, so he decides to manufacture one.”
“It’s plausible, I know, but you know what? There’s something about it that just doesn’t feel right to me. Browning’s a user and a manipulator, but something tells me he’s not a killer.”
“Maybe so, but I still believe he plays a part in all this,” he said. “What we need to do now is talk to Dr. Becenti.”
Valerie was about to agree when a call came through on the radio. Captain Harris wanted them in his office as soon as possible. Valerie gave him their ETA, then concluded the transmission.
Fifteen minutes later, they greeted Captain Harris’s secretary, Michelle, then went into the captain’s office. Luca studied the man before him. Although he was skilled at reading people, he saw nothing in Captain Harris’s face.
Harris typed something into his computer, then angled the monitor display toward them. “The local paper ran a story revealing that you’re trying to catch the killer by using the GPS he planted on you. The same story’s running on the Internet. The ‘Skinwalker Murders’ are top news.”
“So that game plan goes out the window now. Browning did hint that he had a contact in this department,” she explained.
Captain Harris’s eyes flashed with uncharacteristic anger. “I’ve got a leak in my department?”
Had his voice been loud, or unusually gruff, it would have packed far less power than that emotionless, arctic tone.
“Whoever gave him the story will soon be cleaning out their desk,” Harris said.
Despite the determination in his voice, Luca doubted that the captain would get far. Things of this nature were often difficult to pinpoint, and reporters were notoriously careful to guard their sources. But the quality of life here at the station was about to take a drastic turn.
Harris walked across the room, shut the door to his office then returned to his seat. “I received a call earlier from Dr. Becenti, a professor at the college,” he said. “He’s asked to speak to the investigating officers. He says he’s got some information on skinwalkers we may find helpful.”
“He was next on our list of interviews. We’ll go pay him a visit,” Valerie said.
“Good. Get to it.” They turned toward the door, then Harris spoke again. “One more thing I forgot to mention. Tests on those human bones are coming in, and there’s some Y chromosome mumbo jumbo that answers at least one question.”
Valerie and Luca, curious, both turned to face the captain.
“The bones came from a member of my tribe?” Luca asked, following his gut instinct.
“Right. Everything keeps pointing back to the Navajo connection,” Harris answered.
“So the bones may have come from a Navajo cemetery. And both college professors have spent time on the reservation in recent months,” Valerie added. “All the more reason to speak to Becenti.”
Luca closed the door behind them on their way out, nodded to Captain Harris’s young office assistant but said nothing until they were well down the hall. “Whether he’s a grave robber or not remains to be seen. But Becenti suffered a major loss of face after his last visit to the Navajo Nation. He may see this case as a chance to recover some of the ground he lost when Dr. Finley upstaged him. I’d lay odds he’ll volunteer to become a consultant for the police.”
“I hate consultants and experts,” Valerie muttered under her breath.
“You must not have been too thrilled when I came on the scene,” he answered.
“I wasn’t, but lately you’ve gone to great lengths to prove me wrong on that. And your efforts have been…impressive,” she added with a smile.
The mischievous spark in her eyes and the playful challenge in her voice started a fire inside him. Valerie Jonas could stir his blood without even trying. Luca took a deep breath, and glanced away
from her.
A woman like Valerie deserved more than he could give her. He was bound to his duty, and the Rez was his home. Valerie had made a place for herself here, and she needed those roots she’d worked hard to establish.
What he could offer her would take away more than it would give. His path in life was set. He would continue to honor his alliance to the Brotherhood and his work restoring order and bringing harmony to his tribe.
Last night had been a celebration of life. He’d carry that memory with him for as long as he lived. But everything had two sides and for every measure of joy they’d found in those stolen hours they’d soon discover an equal, if not greater, amount of pain.
Chapter Eighteen
They were walking across campus, cutting through the big lawn west of the main library, when Valerie finally broke the heavy silence that had once again stretched out between them.
“You’re just not a great conversationalist, are you?”
“Are you kidding? I’m a regular motormouth,” Luca answered without cracking a smile.
She laughed. “I’m not even going to ask if that’s what you think I am.” The ringing cell phone interrupted her. After listening for a moment she hung up. “Apparently, Dr. Becenti’s done a lot of work on the Rez over the years,” she said, giving him the results of the background check. “Think about it for a moment. Does his name sound familiar to you at all?”
“The Rez is a very large place, covering parts of three states. I don’t know every Navajo—or part Navajo—on our land, no more than you know everyone within, say, two hundred miles of downtown Albuquerque.”
Valerie started to protest that she hadn’t meant that at all, when she saw him give her one of his rare smiles. She realized, suddenly, that he’d been teasing. “I never know what to make of you.”
“Would you prefer someone more predictable?”
She wouldn’t have changed one thing about him, but no way was she going to tell him that. Instead, she let out a bela-bored sigh. “You’re just one of those guys who’s put on this earth to test women.”
“Test them? How?” he asked. “True or false, matching, multiple choice, essay?”
Valerie raised her eyebrows. “I guess you’ll have to figure that one out yourself. I don’t want to give you all the answers. You have too many of them already.”
“Answers? I haven’t got any answers,” he replied, now realizing she hadn’t been teasing. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Liking the fact that he couldn’t figure her out anymore than she could him, she smiled. “See that? There’s balance between us. I can’t get a bead on you and you can’t figure me out either.”
Luca shook his head.
As they entered the building, Valerie asked for directions from a passing student, and soon thereafter they arrived at Dr. Becenti’s office.
Valerie and Luca identified themselves as they went inside the small, crowded room, but it was Dr. Becenti’s reaction to Luca that intrigued Valerie the most. As a woman, she was used to getting men’s attention when she walked into a room. Yet the professor had scarcely glanced at her. His attention was focused solely on Luca.
“Tribal Police…” Dr. Becenti repeated thoughtfully as they identified themselves. “I would have thought sending a hataalii would have been more appropriate.”
“Homicides are under the jurisdiction of the police, Professor. I’m here to help county law enforcement with their investigation because I have some knowledge of the practices this killer’s using.”
“I’m one-fourth Navajo and my doctorate is in cultural anthropology,” Dr. Becenti said. “I specialize in the Diné so I’d like to offer my expertise to the department as well,” he said, looking at Valerie now. “I’ve studied the ways of the skinwalkers extensively. Do you know much about them?” he asked, looking over at Luca.
Luca was tempted to direct the professor not to use the word so casually but somehow he refrained. Instead he shrugged, noting that if Becenti had a medicine pouch, it was out of sight.
“I suppose it’s hard to learn about something that’s rarely spoken about aloud,” Dr. Becenti said in a much more animated tone when Luca failed to answer. “But my knowledge is at your disposal. I understand from one of the newspaper articles that the killer has cut fingers off each of the victims. Do you know why that is?”
“Souvenirs,” Valerie said flatly. “It’s not at all unusual for a serial killer to collect something from his victims. There may also be personal items missing we don’t know about—yet.”
“But you’re not up against an ordinary serial killer, Detective,” Becenti said in an arrogant tone. “You see? That’s why I could be of help to you on this case. Few have the specialized knowledge I’ve acquired on this subject over the years.”
“Be careful, Professor. We might start looking at you as a suspect,” Valerie said, only half-jokingly.
“Amusing, but with all the classes I teach, my whereabouts, even after hours, are pretty well established,” he answered. “But we’re getting sidetracked. Do you know why he took the fingers?” He glanced at each of them then continued, “Navajo ways teach that life enters the body through the ears. When death claims it, life goes out through the fingers. Some believe that fingerprints—the whorls in our fingers—are the physical imprint left behind by the first spirit ever freed from its body by death.”
Luca nodded, having known the answer since he was six years old. The fact that the professor also had known about this attested to the extent of the man’s knowledge—or careful research.
“The fact that the killer’s utilizing little-known facts like those tells me you’re dealing with the real thing—a genuine skinwalker,” Becenti said, his voice rising an octave with excitement.
“And that’s why you’re so interested?” Valerie asked.
“Of course. Even if this person has none of the supernatural powers accorded to skinwalkers, his body of knowledge is still impressive. I’m a university professor, always in search of answers. After you catch this—individual—I intend to do my best to interview him at length.”
As he detailed his plans, Luca surveyed Dr. Becenti’s office, studying the contents of the shelves and walls. There were Indian crafts all around the room as well as Hispanic works of art. “You like all of the Southwestern culture, not just that of the Navajo.”
Dr. Becenti nodded. “We live in one of the most culturally diverse areas of the United States. Providing you keep an open mind, there’s no limit to what you can learn about our neighbors, past and present.”
Luca noted collections on brujería and voodoo, but it was one leather-bound book by a Navajo author that immediately caught his attention. It contained the memoirs of an Anglo woman who’d married a renowned medicine man.
Dr. Becenti came over and stood behind him. “That’s an interesting volume,” he said quietly. “It speaks of a secret organization on the reservation, the Brotherhood of Warriors. I believe the group exists to this day but I haven’t been able to document any of its history or practices. I traveled into the heart of the Rez last summer to conduct my research, but I got nowhere, even with Navajo blood flowing through my veins….”
“If it’s a secret organization, maybe they wanted to keep it that way,” Luca said. “But traveling across the Dinétah is a wonderful way to spend the summer, and all it cost you was a little gas money, right?”
“More than that.” Becenti’s eyes flashed with anger, but when he spoke his tone revealed no traces of it. “I had to return my grant money, and it created a few other…misunderstandings.” He turned away from Luca and returned to his desk. “But it’s all water under the bridge now.”
Valerie cleared her throat, then diplomatically brought him back on target. “I understand that you had some specific information you wanted to share with us.”
His expression grew grave and he nodded. “Though the majority of my students are Navajo or part Navajo, there are some who come from ot
her cultures. Currently there seems to be a healthy interest in the various American Indian tribes and their cultural practices.” He paused, looked at Luca then back at Valerie. “Have you considered the possibility that you might be dealing with an Anglo—someone desperate to belong to something—anything—that’ll help define him, even if what he chooses is totally repugnant?”
“Do you have someone in mind?” Valerie asked him.
He nodded. “Two individuals, actually. First there’s the reporter who’s writing the series on the ‘Skinwalker Murders.’ We’ve spoken over the phone a few times and he seems very knowledgeable for an Anglo.”
Valerie nodded. “We’ve met him. Who’s the other?”
Becenti hesitated briefly then continued. “These are special circumstances. I don’t think I’ll be violating my professional obligations by letting you know about a former student of mine. His name is Frank Willie. He dropped out of my class last semester. He’d disagreed with the grade I’d given him on his research paper and went as far as to threaten me.”
“Threaten you how?” Valerie asked.
“I’d been giving lectures on Navajo witchcraft practices, and when I came back to my office one night, I found a dry painting made with ashes on my desk. The figure in the center represented me, and he’d vandalized it in the way a skinwalker would have if he’d intended on making his victim go insane. When I hurried out of my office to see if anyone was around, I saw him at the end of the hall. He was standing there, laughing. Before I could say anything, he hurried out the door, and I didn’t see him again—until yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?” Valerie asked.
“He was waiting for me here in my office. He wanted to get back into my class. He said that what he’d learned from me had empowered him. I have no idea what he meant by that, and I didn’t ask. I just told him to get out.”
“Did he leave right away?” Luca asked.
“No, not at first. After he realized that there was no way I’d ever let him even audit one of my classes, he finally left,” he said. “But he was in a rage. He swore to make me pay.”