by Aimée Thurlo
The basement publications and journals area was quiet, and hearing their approach, James glanced up. “Police officers, right? I saw your photos in the newspaper. You must be here about the murders,” he said. “How can I help?”
“James Campos? I’m Detective Jonas of BCSO. This is Detective Nakai of the Navajo Tribal Police. We’re actually here gathering additional information on the victims. Did you know any of them?”
“Not the first one, but the ones who followed, yes. I heard the news on the street about the latest victim, Elaine. She had the best hot dog stand in the city. Dr. Becenti and I were regular customers and we’re sure going to miss her. Elaine was beautiful in a way that kind of snuck up on you. She always had a smile for her customers, too,” he said. “I tried asking her out a few times but she always turned me down.” His eyes suddenly grew wide. “Hey, I’m not a suspect, am I?”
Valerie shook her head. Based upon the individual they’d encountered on earlier occasions, Campos was too short and heavy to fit the profile. “What we need from you, James, is information. What can you tell us about Dr. Becenti? Is he considered an authority in his field?”
“Whoa! Is Dr. B a suspect?”
“Actually, we’re looking into his background because we may need to use him more extensively as a source,” Valerie said, unwilling to reveal the real reason. “A background check is all part of that. Can you tell me what he does between lectures and office hours, and how he spends his free time?”
“I haven’t got a clue. All I do is grade his tests and take care of some clerical stuff.”
Luca looked at the journals scattered on the desk. “Does he publish a lot in professional journals?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s not only a university requirement, it’s a real biggie for him. Dr. Finley and him are always competing for professional recognition. They both want to be known as the authority on the Southwestern tribes. Becenti has the edge when it comes to Navajo religious practices—particularly witchcraft. Of course it doesn’t hurt that he’s part Navajo.”
“Does he have a lot of sources?” Luca asked, though he couldn’t see it. The People just didn’t talk about that particular subject.
“I think most of his information comes from books and private journals he’s collected over the years. He’s spent a fortune on memoirs, in particular. Some of those are so fragile he won’t let anyone even photocopy them for the library archives.”
“Have you read any of his papers and articles?” Valerie asked.
He shook his head. “It’s not my area. I’m a Tewa linguist. But don’t tell Dr. B. I need the job.”
“How can we find and access the journal articles Dr. Becenti’s written?” Valerie asked, looking around at the shelves filled with bound reference materials.
“You can get help from Peggy at the circulation desk,” he said, indicating a deathly pale, slender young woman with long black hair and a lot of silver facial jewelry. “But most of the professional journals can’t be taken outside the building.”
“Okay, thanks,” Valerie said.
“If you ask,” he said, looking at Luca and grinning, “she’ll look it all up for you and even carry it to your table. She likes the warrior type.”
Valerie turned away, trying not to burst out laughing.
Five minutes later, Luca and Valerie were seated at a study carrel at the end of a row of shelves, three bound anthropology journal collections in front of them.
“I don’t know how accurate Becenti’s information is, but these articles are interesting,” Valerie said, skimming one. “This one mentions a prominent hataalii with your last name. Is this your dad?” she asked, showing him the passage.
He nodded. “I told you about him.”
“Your dad made it clear that certain subjects aren’t to be spoken about, but Dr. Becenti goes on quoting unnamed sources—informants, he calls them. He details the dry paintings used by the evil ones, and how they bewitch their targets by defacing the figure within the circle. That all matches what we’ve seen at the crime scenes.”
“But it doesn’t prove Becenti’s our man. This journal article could have been read by almost anyone interested in the subject.”
“True, but these are specialized journals with a limited distribution. I would imagine that their readership is composed of anthropologists and students. You don’t just drop in to read this kind of stuff.”
“That still isn’t enough to tie Becenti to the crimes,” Luca said. “But knowing that Becenti had a connection to victim number two and victim number three is a start.”
Valerie nodded. “And he—Finley, too—also made various trips to the Navajo Nation—and maybe some grave sites there. Either could have dug up the human remains we’ve found.”
“Becenti’s in better physical shape and built like a runner, too.”
“Finley made an enemy of victim number two. Maybe he’s also a hot dog fan,” Valerie countered.
“We should focus on Becenti,” Luca insisted. “I’ve got a gut feeling about him.”
Valerie considered it, then said, “Becenti’s teaching a class right now. What do you say we go try and take a look inside his office—unofficially.”
“You mean break in?”
“It wouldn’t be breaking in if his door’s opened.”
They arrived five minutes later. Although Dr. Becenti’s office was locked, the one beside his was open at the moment and, more important, unoccupied. The common plate glass wall both offices shared gave Valerie and Luca an unobstructed view of Becenti’s work space. From where they stood, they could see photos and other personal mementos that hadn’t been there before.
“He cleaned house before we came over last time,” Valerie said. “I should have expected that.”
Luca held up one hand, interrupting her. “In cases like this it’s easy to second-guess yourself but that’ll get us nowhere. We did our best with the information we had at the time. That’s all that’s possible.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Only hindsight’s flawless.”
“Check out the photo at the edge of his desk, left side next to the phone. Isn’t that a photo of victim number two?” Luca asked.
She pressed her face against the glass, hoping for a clearer look. “It wasn’t there last time we went to his office. I’d swear to that. But I can’t tell who that is….”
Hearing footsteps, Valerie turned as a young woman in jeans and a knit short-sleeved shirt stepped into the office. She was carrying a tooled leather purse, the strap over her shoulder.
“Hi guys,” she acknowledged with a smile as Valerie held out her badge and introduced herself and Luca. “I’m Barb Cook, Professor Hebert’s teaching assistant. I’ve heard about those university-area women getting killed and you asking around the department. Did you come to see Dr. Hebert? Or are you looking for Dr. Becenti? If so, he won’t be back for another half hour or so. He’s teaching a class right now.”
Barb stood behind Valerie, looked toward Becenti’s office and sighed loudly. “He got the larger office, though we need the space more. Professor Hebert teaches field archaeology and has ten times as many students. We’re bursting at the seams here. Maybe when Dr. H.’s next journal article comes out in the Anthropology Review he’ll move up in the pecking order.”
“Who’s the woman in the photo?” Valerie asked casually, pointing. “Do you know?”
“That’s his second cousin. They were close friends. She’s full Navajo and lived back on the Rez. She died many years ago—a horseback-riding accident. Dr. Becenti was with her at the time, and I understand that he took her death really hard.”
“Did he tell you that?” Luca asked, wanting to verify her source.
“No, Kay Porter filled me in. She and I were close last semester when she was Dr. Becenti’s TA. But Kay had to drop out of school—family problems.”
“Does Kay live here in town?”
Barb nodded. “Not that far from campus, actually, over near Roosevelt P
ark.”
“We’ll need her full address,” Valerie said.
“Why? Do you think she could be involved in these crimes? She’d never hurt anyone,” Barb said, immediately defending her friend. Then suddenly Barb stopped speaking and her eyes grew wide. “Wait a minute. You don’t think she could be the next target, do you?”
“She’s not in trouble, or in danger, that we know of. We’re just trying to learn more about Professor Becenti,” Valerie said, repeating her cover story. “And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention our visit to Dr. Becenti.”
“No problem. I avoid him whenever possible. That man could give anyone the creeps. He’s so into all that witchcraft stuff.”
Barb wrote down Kay’s address and handed it to her. “Here you go. Kay will be happy to help you. Truth is, by the time she quit she couldn’t wait to get away from Becenti.”
“Was it because of his obsession with witchcraft or something more?” Luca asked.
“The witchcraft stuff was part of it, sure, but there was more to it than that. Becenti’s got one heck of a chip on his shoulder, and thinks he’s far more important than he is. Even Dr. Finley, the department head, can’t stand him. Those two disagree on everything. I’ve overheard some of their arguments—the ones coming from next door, at least.”
“What do they argue about?” Luca asked.
“Scheduling, assignments and academic issues mostly. One time he and Finley really went at it over the class hours Becenti got assigned. Becenti wanted to know why he got all the odd hours.” Her lips twitched and she added, “Finley told him that it fit him to a tee.”
Luca and Valerie left the building shortly afterward. “Finley’s still not off the hook completely, but I think you’re right. We need to focus on Becenti,” Valerie said.
“Let’s go talk to his former assistant. After that, we’ll have a better idea of what needs to be done next.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
They were seated inside Kay Porter’s small apartment ten minutes later. She was a slight, Anglo woman, older than either of them had expected. In her early sixties, she had a quiet dignity about her.
“You thought I’d be younger,” Kay said with a smile, reading them accurately.
“Yes, but that was mostly because we’ve heard that Dr. Becenti has…shall we say, specific tastes?” Valerie said, taking a shot in the dark.
“Young Native American women? You’re right about that. I think the only reason I got the job was because I’d met George three years ago on a dig. Back then, he found me easy to talk to,” she explained. “Last year when I decided to work on my doctorate, I discovered I’d need extra income for tuition so I went to him. It only took a few days to realize how much he’d changed since we’d first met.”
“In what ways had he changed?” Valerie asked.
“What used to motivate George was his desire to learn more about his culture. It wasn’t making a name for himself,” she said in a slow, thoughtful voice. “Back then, his curiosity came from the right place, if you get my meaning. He was particularly interested in hataaliis, though he certainly didn’t have much respect for them.”
“Did he ever tell you why?” Valerie asked.
“Only in bits, but I managed to piece it together. When he was just out of grad school, George apparently decided to track down all his distant relatives on the Rez. He located a few, but the only one who’d have anything to do with him was a distant cousin—a woman. One day they went out horseback riding and there was an accident. By the time George managed to get help, she’d passed away.”
Even before she’d said anything more, Luca guessed most of the story.
“One of the woman’s relatives was a hataalii who hadn’t trusted George’s motives from the beginning,” Kay continued. “Then after the accident, rumors began circulating that George had become a skinwalker—killing a relative is one way a skinwalker gets his power. George blamed the hataalii for starting those stories. Then the hataalii passed away and, though the man died of natural causes, things got even worse for George.”
“No wonder he had trouble getting anyone on the Rez to trust him,” Luca said, understanding much more now.
“No one in the Arizona side of the Rez would even talk to him. Word continued to spread, and it soon didn’t matter where he went—most of the Diné would refuse to have anything to do with him. He then changed tactics and started researching skinwalkers, something most Navajos won’t talk about anyway. I’m guessing he got most of his information from old journals—or an actual skinwalker he managed to identify. Whatever the case, by the time he became a full professor, years later, he was considered one of the few authorities on that subject.”
“Does he believe the rituals have power?” Luca asked.
“He doesn’t like to admit it but I think he does. George told me once that the Anglo world is too quick to dismiss what it can’t even begin to comprehend. He said he’d conducted experiments, and his results, though not conclusive, merited further study.”
“Is it possible that his skinwalker studies corrupted him and he eventually convinced himself he’d become what he was accused of being?” Luca asked.
“You think George is responsible for the murders?” Kay asked, suddenly horrified. “That doesn’t sound like the man I worked with—not unless something happened to throw him off the deep end. I’d be more willing to believe that he knows who’s been killing these young women and is keeping it a secret because he wants to study the crimes. But to actually go into the dark practices?” She shook her head. “George wants to make a name for himself. His ego demands it. That’s why he wanted to devote one full semester to skinwalker practices and rituals.”
“He actually taught that?” Luca said, taken aback.
“No. Finley threw the syllabus back into his face. Finley’s a pioneer but he’s also a realist. He knew a unit like that would create all kinds of flak in the community. Then the politicians would start circling in for the kill.”
“How did Becenti take the news?” Valerie asked.
“At first he was furious. Then he changed his mind about the whole thing. He told me that teaching students about powers that could never be fully controlled was riskier than he’d realized. And before you ask, I have no idea what he meant by that.”
“Do you know anything about his work on the Navajo Nation last summer?”
Kay nodded. “It was a mess. He found out that even though he was a full professor with impressive credentials, Navajos have long memories. The rumors about him had persisted all these years, and no one wanted anything to do with him. He came back empty-handed, but considering he’s still teaching, I guess he recovered from that loss of face and moved on.”
Valerie thanked the woman. As soon as Luca and she were alone in the car, she spoke. “Finley’s not off the hook yet, but I disagree with Kay. I think Becenti’s our man and your instincts were right on target all along.” She expelled her breath in a hiss. “Now we need to prove it.”
“The problem is that we have no hard evidence against either of those men,” Luca said, then lapsed into a long thoughtful silence. After several minutes, he continued. “I think it’s time for us to get creative.”
“No. We need to go by the book,” Valerie said. “Otherwise the case will be thrown out of court and a killer will walk. Creativity and police work don’t mix.”
“Agreed, but I have an idea that may work on all counts. It’s clear that Becenti believes in the supernatural power the evil ones have. I say we use that against him—and his hatred for the Brotherhood.”
“You’ve got my full attention now. What’s your plan?”
“First, we’ll need operatives who can keep both Finley and Becenti under surveillance.”
“I can have a half dozen deputies assigned to us within the hour,” Valerie said.
“We’ll also need special Navajo operatives. First, we’ll place wards around both Finley’s and Becenti’s offices and homes. P
rayersticks, for example, and I think we should have the Coyote Prayer written in Navajo taped to their doors. Maybe we can even broadcast special chants sung by a hataalii over their cell phones. All these measures will convince the guilty one that other Navajos are wise to his true nature and are out to destroy him. Nothing is more dangerous to a skinwalker than being identified—and having his power rendered harmless.”
“You want to mess with the minds of your suspects. I get it,” she said.
“Then we’ll get a female operative to pose as the chindi— the ghost of one of the victims—and goad him into taking further action.”
“I’ll do it. I’m not Navajo, but with makeup and a wig I can pull this off. He prefers to strike at night—we already know that—and anyone playing ghost will have to stay in the shadows to avoid too close an examination. That’ll work to my advantage.”
He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “I never intended for you—”
She held up one hand, interrupting him. “I won’t pass the buck on this. Like you, I restore order—not by running from danger but by facing it squarely.”
He gazed at her with undisguised admiration. As much as he would have preferred to keep her on the sidelines, he understood her need to stand up and be counted. “Then we’ll see this through together.”
As she saw herself reflected in his strong, steady gaze, Valerie felt completely understood. With Luca, she could be exactly who she was—an officer and a woman.
If only…Valerie suddenly turned away. Luca was everything she’d ever dreamed of, yet soon they’d have to say goodbye. She wanted to scream against the unfairness of it all. An aching sense of vulnerability that was totally unlike her swept over her. For the first time in her life she felt helpless. She desperately wanted to force Luca to need her—to want to stay…. But her world wasn’t his, and she wasn’t sure that there was a place for her in his life somewhere away on the reservation.