White Thunder

by Thurlo, Aimée

  Ella looked over at Kevin, who nodded, then closed his eyes and stretched out on the recliner as she lay down beside her daughter. Dawn instinctively snuggled up against her, still fast asleep. Feeling her daughter’s strong and steady heartbeat against her, Ella closed her eyes and drifted away.

  Books by Aimee and David Thurlo

  ELLA CLAH NOVELS

  Blackening Song

  Death Walker

  Bad Medicine

  The Enemy Way

  Shooting Chant

  Red Mesa

  Changing Woman

  Tracking Bear

  Wind Spirit

  White Thunder

  Mourning Dove

  Turquoise Girl

  Coyote’s Wife

  LEE NEZ NOVELS

  Second Sunrise

  Blood Retribution

  Pale Death

  Surrogate Evil

  SISTER AGATHA NOVELS

  Bad Faith

  Thief in Retreat

  Prey For a Miracle

  False Witness

  Prodigal Nun

  Plant Them Deep

  Critical Acclaim for White Thunder

  “Illustrates the typical strengths of the Thurlos with a solid grounding in Native American traditions and beliefs. Well-constructed plots and a recurring cast of growing characters make this one of the best series featuring a Native American sleuth.”

  —Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine

  “Ella is a wonderful protagonist, a strong yet caring woman who is as smart as she is beautiful. Readers need not be acquainted with earlier installments to enjoy this latest Clah novel.”

  —Romantic Times BookClub Magazine

  “Thoughtfully and intelligently plotted. An excellent entry in an underappreciated series.”

  —Booklist

  Critical acclaim for the Ella Clah novels

  “Gripping. The Thurlo team brings the tensions inherent in Navajo life alive by showing the myriad ways in which the tribe’s traditionalists conflict with the progressives. The Thurlos also focus on how modern crime investigation conflicts with the Navajo belief in chindi, or the evil that remains at death scenes and must be avoided. A spirited blend of Navajo culture and police procedure.”

  —Booklist (starred review) on Tracking Bear

  “Tracking Bear is a great police procedural that gives readers an insightful look into the culture of the Navajo living on the reservation today. The who-done-it is complex, compelling and exciting.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Realistic, fast-paced, and intense. Action scenes keep the plot moving at a quick pace with some surprises along the way, adding to the excitement.”

  —School Library Journal on Changing Woman

  “A hair-raising opening. The Thurlos hit all the right notes: they have an intriguing, growing character at the center of a series that combines fastmoving plots and a wealth of fascinating cultural information.”

  —Booklist on Wind Spirit

  “Red Mesa is an engrossing mystery as intricately woven as a fine Navajo rug. It kept me guessing to the end.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Margaret Coel

  “A fascinating story. Ella Clah, strong and vulnerable at the same time, is an intriguing character of great depth, and the surprise ending will delight all mystery lovers.”

  —Romantic Times on Red Mesa

  “An intense, spellbinding family drama in which the battle between good and evil affects both modernist and traditionalist Navajo. Prime reading for fans of Tony Hillerman and other Southwestern mysteries.”

  —Library Journal on Red Mesa

  MOURNING DOVE

  AIMÉE & DAVID THURLO

  When a young Navajo warrior—a member of the National Guard—is killed soon after returning from Iraq, the entire Navajo nation rises up to demand justice. Navajo have long served in the US armed forces with distinction; before Special Investigator Ella Clah has time to draw breath, she finds that the Army is elbowing in on her case. Was Jimmy Blacksheep murdered because of something he saw Over There, or is the cause of his death much more personal and close to home? Find out in Mourning Dove, the newest Ella Clah novel, available now from Forge.

  CHAPTER ONE

  In all her years serving first with the FBI, and then the Navajo Tribal Police, Special Investigator Ella Clah had never had an office with a window—until now. Budgets had grown, not due to tribal prosperity but because of an increase in violent crimes across the Navajo Nation. That had forced an expansion of their existing station and Ella, as head of their major crimes unit, had landed space in their new wing. The odor of fresh paint was a constant reminder of the changes taking place in the department as was the color scheme, a palette of soft aquas, designed to relieve stress and maximize efficiency.

  Ella swiveled in her chair, took a sip of freshly brewed coffee, and gazed at Ship Rock, the rock formation that was their town’s namesake. She recalled the old story about the huge flying monsters that had once lived there. The tale was part of every Navajo child’s education from before the first grade—that is, if they attended reservation schools. The story was vibrant with the richness and rhythms of The People’s legends. She could almost hear her mother, Rose, telling her the tale, keeping the legends alive—a gift from one generation to the next.

  All the Dinetah, the land of the Navajos, was filled with stories about the ones who’d come before. Every sandstone formation, pass or valley, mountain peak, and rock formation within the Four Corners and beyond echoed with the tradition of the Dineh.

  Finished with her coffee, Ella turned, hearing Justine step through the doorway. “Morning, partner,” Ella greeted.

  Justine nodded, a somber expression on her face. “Nothing’s good about it now. Another possible carjacking went down late last night or earlier this morning. This time all hell has broken loose.”

  “What’ve we got?” Ella said, automatically reaching for her keys as she dropped the empty foam cup into the wastebasket.

  “We’ve got a homicide too—a soldier who just returned home from Iraq. The officer at the scene ID’d him.”

  “How’d he die?” Ella grabbed her jacket, and was out the door before Justine had answered.

  “Multiple gunshot wounds, according to the officer.”

  “Do you have a ‘twenty’ on this?” she asked referring to the location of the crime as they hurried down the hall.

  “Just off Highway 64 about three miles west of Rattlesnake,” Justine answered. “We’ll have to take your unit. Mine’s getting new tires.”

  They hurried to Ella’s unmarked vehicle, Justine taking the keys. As they pulled up to the highway and Justine braked, checking for traffic, they both heard an ominous high pitched squeal. “It’s the dust from yesterday’s wind. Smell it in the air? It’s starting early today too. The breeze will turn into gusts before noon today for sure and sand will fly everywhere including the brake linings again,” Ella said. “I read in the paper that the wind’s been getting up to sixty in the afternoons. I hate this kind of weather. I can’t stand the constant whistling through the slightest gap in the windows and doors, the sand blasting against your skin … not to mention evidence flying everywhere.”

  “Some say that Wind carries information. You just have to listen carefully,” Justine said.

  “Now you sound like my brother. Clifford knows all the stories. It’s part of what makes him a good medicine man. He says that Wind has supporting power—that if I tune myself into it, rather than become its adversary, I’d get farther. But I still hate the taste of sand in my mouth, and since Wind puts it there … .”

  Justine laughed.

  Ella turned down the volume of the police radio. Today, it was mostly static and garbled transmissions. Another of Wind’s side effects on obsolete equipment. The budget increases had targeted additional staff and facilities, not equipment, unfortunately. “What else did you get on this latest crime?”

  “Of
ficer Mark Lujan called it in just a few minutes before I came into your office,” Justine answered. “He found the body down a side road near a cattle guard. It was visible from the highway.”

  Ella nodded. “It’s pretty desolate out there past Rattlesnake. Just a few houses here and there down toward the river, and you really have to look for them.”

  They made a sweeping turn toward the northwest, and Ella looked up at Ute Mountain over in Colorado. “What do you have on the victim?”

  “The deceased lived on land that was allotted to his family. After his parents passed on, he and his brother leased sections of it. The victim’s name is Jimmy Blacksheep,” she added after a moment’s hesitation. Although police officers, by and large, were modernists, most of them shared a reluctance to speak of the recently deceased by name. It wasn’t so much fear of the chindi, the evil in a man that stayed earthbound after death. It had more to do with respect for the Navajo cultural practices they’d learned and followed most of their lives. Habits of a lifetime were hard to break.

  “Officer Lujan have any help at the scene?” Ella asked, staring at the lonely stretch of highway before them.

  “No, but he’s doing what he can to protect the crime scene until we arrive Lujan’s a rookie, but he’s good. He’ll handle things. And it’s not like there’s going to be a crowd there. Most of our people will go out of their way to avoid a body,” Justine said, then added. “Tache, Neskahi, and the M.E. should arrive at the scene shortly.”

  Ella nodded. Sergeant Joseph Neskahi and Officer Ralph Tache worked for her Special Investigations team and served as the crime scene unit. Carolyn Roanhorse was the tribe’s Forensic Pathologist. She had a thankless job. Since she worked with the bodies of the dead, she was virtually a pariah but, through her work, she continued to acknowledge her debt to the tribe who’d paid for her schooling.

  As they approached the scene, Ella immediately spotted Officer Lujan standing ramrod straight in his tan uniform by the side of the road. He’d taken his post just outside the yellow crime scene tape he’d used to cordon off the area around the body.

  Officer Lujan was thin and lanky, unlike most Navajo males, and had large soulful eyes. His posture, lack of expression and the almost dogged determination not to look at the body behind him telegraphed far more than the officer realized.

  “I bet you anything this is his first actual crime scene body,” Ella noted softly. “It’s a toss up what he wants to do more right now—puke or get into his cruiser and put some serious distance between him and this place. And, if my own experience is any guide, he’s probably also wondering what other career choices he’s overlooked.”

  They got out of the unit, and stepped over the yellow tape, which was flapping in the breeze. Office Lujan greeted them with a nod, but didn’t say a word. Ella figured that he probably didn’t trust his voice. She’d been there many times—when the need to erupt was kept just below the surface by sheer will. Even now, some crimes scenes still had the power to get to her.

  “Justine,” Ella called out, “put out some cones. We’re going to expand the yellow tape perimeter out to the center stripe of the highway. Officer Lujan can redirect traffic through the far lane. I’ll call for another officer to assist.”

  One look at the face-up, bullet riddled corpse in the gravel along the shoulder of the road suggested that the shooter might have fired from a vehicle. That meant at least one lane, maybe both, could contain vital evidence. If necessary, they’d close the road completely and stop traffic for as long as necessary.

  Ella used her cell phone to make the call, standing about fifteen feet from two obvious and separate pools of blood. The largest was beneath and around the victim, a fit-looking Navajo male with a buzz cut. He appeared to be in his early to midtwenties and had a dozen or more bullet holes in his torso and legs. The entire area, a good one hundred feet in every direction from the body, could contain evidence. They’d also have to check for footprints leading away from the victim, in case there was another body farther from the road, still undiscovered.

  “I know … knew … the deceased,” the officer said, his voice taut, as if someone had grabbed him by the throat. He was staring at the ground before his feet, his eyes narrowed, a sign Ella recognized. Part of him was fighting to shut out the images he’d carry with him for the rest of his life.

  “Do you have any idea who might have done this to him?” Ella asked. “A local enemy?” Soon Officer Lujan would learn to push back the screaming in his head. They all learned to do the job by getting past the insanity that shadowed their world.

  Lujan shook his head. “I don’t know anyone here who may have wanted him dead. All I know is that he’s been serving overseas with a New Mexico National Guard transportation and supply unit. They had a welcome home ceremony about two weeks ago at Fort Bliss, then most of them spent several days waiting for their heavy equipment to arrive so they could drive it back to the Armory in Farmington. They couldn’t step down until then. He was due back yesterday,” he said, then added, “His brother is a Farmington Police officer. Should I call him?”

  “Get the FPD duty officer, and have him or her relay the news.”

  While Lujan called the Farmington PD on his cell, Justine placed some bright orange cones some distance up and down the road from the scene. Once finished, she came back to the site and crouched down by a set of tire tracks, notebook in hand. “We don’t have usable footprints, at least not in the vicinity of the body because of the gravel, and probably nowhere else as well. The wind’s already starting to gust. I’ll check farther from the road, of course. We don’t have shell casings either, assuming the victim was shot and bled out here. But there’s always the chance the shooter had a revolver, not an automatic.”

  “The rest of our crime scene team and the M.E. should be here by now. We need to expand our search,” Ella muttered, checking her watch. “Where is everyone?”

  Hearing traffic, Ella looked down the highway. “Never mind.” A half minute later the tribe’s Medical Examiner’s vehicle pulled up, followed close behind by the even larger van used by the tribe’s crime scene unit. Ella nodded to Tache and Neskahi as they climbed out, then went to greet Carolyn Roanhorse, her long-time friend. As Carolyn walked, her baggy slacks and white medical jacket got whipped about by the wind, which had increased in intensity since Ella had first arrived on scene.

  Carolyn had always been a large woman, but she’d put on more weight this past winter after her divorce. As she reached Officer Lujan, who was standing beside the yellow tape, she glared at him. “Large and in charge, and coming through. Get out of my way, son,” she barked.

  Carolyn stepped over the tape and went directly to the body, watching the ground for any obvious evidence in her path. “Some firefight,” she said, crouching by the victim and looking closely at what appeared to be two blood trails. One led to the second pool Ella had noticed atop the asphalt. “Looks like he wasn’t the only one who sprung a leak,” she said.

  “We’ll photograph everything and take samples, but we still haven’t got any shell casings or rounds, except what’s probably in the victim’s body,” Ella said. “I’ll need those slugs as soon as you can part with them. Also, I need an estimated time of death.”

  “Understood,” Carolyn said, her eyes never leaving the corpse. “From the condition of the body, I’d say he died not more than a few hours ago—around seven in the morning, give or take. There are no obvious powder burns, so whatever happened here wasn’t up close and personal.” As she continued to study the body and the entry wounds in particular, she added, “Wait. Two shots were up close—execution style. Both went through his heart.” Carolyn waited for Tache to take photos, then began the process of bagging the victim’s hands.

  Justine was taking samples from the blood trail, and both larger pools of blood. “This makes no sense,” she said. “Why have the carjackers added murder to their M.O. all of a sudden? Until now, they’ve managed to pull off the heists by
threatening their victims and manhandling them.”

  “The carjackers probably didn’t know that their latest victim was a soldier who’d just come back from a combat zone—and from a unit that had been trained to be particularly wary of roadside attacks. Fighting would have come more naturally to him than surrendering. But this wasn’t a simple execution. Those heel marks on the shoulder of the road in the gravel suggest that the victim was dragged out of the vehicle to where he is now, and someone else was dragged several feet into the road, then disappeared.”

  “So there were at least two carjackers involved in the shooting, and the victim may have wounded one of them severely enough to prevent him from making it back to their vehicle without help,” Justine said.

  “If that perp couldn’t walk, chances are he couldn’t have driven the second car away either, which means we’re talking three perps, at least,” Ella said, “which is consistent with other reports of another vehicle nearby. We need to check with area hospitals and see if they’ve treated a gunshot victim. Also we need to look for that second car. Their M.O. so far has been to lure a person in by having a good looking woman pretend to have car trouble, then having a big guy jump the good samaritan and strong-arm him or her. But this time they didn’t leave the stolen junker behind, at least not in the immediate area.”

  Justine nodded. “I’ll handle that right now. Should I also get a list of other returning soldiers from the victim’s National Guard unit, particularly those who live around here?”