Turquoise Girl

by Thurlo, David

Ella was almost out of the kitchen when he stopped her.

  “Wait. Something else about Reverend Campbell. He’s been trying hard to get new converts for his church, stopping by to see people at their homes at night and asking them to come to church and be saved. And if you’re polite to him, he keeps coming back. I think that’s half the reason he’s always stopping by the store for this and that—and what he might have been doing last night. Me and Jane are on his radar, and there have to be others along the street. Does that help?”

  “Maybe. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Five

  Ella headed to the hospital. She needed to meet with Carolyn and, if Marco Pete was in any condition to answer questions, she’d need to talk to him as well. Ella had just reached the tribal vehicle when her cell phone rang. It was Justine.

  “We’ve processed Tso’s home. We found the cash box from the center, still locked, and a handful of expensive-looking watches and rings that are definitely not his style.”

  “Anything at all that might link him to the murder?”

  “We found a letter from Valerie on his kitchen table. No date. It looks like a match to her handwriting and, in it, she wrote that she wanted to get back together with him and that he still meant a lot to her. It’s signed ‘Val.’”

  “That supports Gilbert’s claim that she’d loaned him money,” Ella said. “Okay, let’s follow that up. Interview Gilbert again when you get back to the station and see what he has to say. He might have overreacted if she was pressuring him, and something like that could have led to a fatal confrontation.”

  As Ella drove to the hospital, she was glad to see that the haze blanketing the river valley, pollution mostly from the coal power plant, had cleared out because of the breeze. The pollution that came from the smokestacks was believed to be responsible for many birth defects in the area, though no one had ever been able to prove it. The plant itself had been built in the early 1970s so it wasn’t required to meet the modern-day standards set by the EPA. Most of the electricity it provided, ironically, supplied customers hundreds of miles west in Arizona.

  The second the new, modern hospital came into view, her thoughts shifted back to the business at hand. Valerie Tso’s killer needed to be found and soon. The first twenty-four hours were critical, and that time had passed already. Maybe Carolyn could give her some information that would point her in the right direction.

  Ella went downstairs to the basement of the hospital where Carolyn worked. The doctor and she had become friends over the years. Neither had a lot of time to socialize because of the demands of their work, but they still managed to get together now and then.

  As she entered the outer office of the morgue, Ella glanced around. Carolyn had no receptionist, secretary, or assistant. First, the budget didn’t allow it, and, more important, few people beside the police ever came down here anyway unless they’d gotten lost. All too often, bodies brought into the facility remained unclaimed. On the Navajo reservation, it was who the person had been in life that mattered. What was left behind after death was better avoided.

  Ella opened the big door to the work area and saw Carolyn in her pale green scrubs at the autopsy table, still working on the naked figure before her and speaking softly into the mike. Ella didn’t interrupt, knowing that Carolyn had looked up and seen her, and would come out when she could.

  Carolyn joined her ten minutes later. “I have a preliminary report ready, and there’s a very interesting detail you should look into. The victim didn’t drown, she bled to death, probably while unconscious. The lacerations on her hands, and particularly the deep one on her right wrist, were enough. I found a lot of glass from the mirror in those wounds. There was no water at all in her lungs, and only a small amount in the mouth and throat. She’d already stopped breathing when her head was dunked in the tub.”

  “She was beaten, ripped to shreds in a collision with the mirror, then allowed to bleed to death. Then the killer dressed the body in her Sunday best and her head was immersed….” Ella said thoughtfully. “Like a baptism…”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Carolyn said. “But I don’t think those are usually done in bathtubs to dead people.”

  Ella smiled grimly, then studied the report Carolyn handed her. The time of death Carolyn had originally estimated had been narrowed a bit more. The victim had died between eight and ten in the evening. Because Valerie’s hair had almost dried, it was probably closer to 9 P.M.

  “The victim’s connection to Boots…and your family…is really getting to you, isn’t it?” Carolyn observed in a quiet voice.

  “It’s more than that. There’s something else that’s just out of reach in my mind…something I should be seeing….” she said, then shook her head slowly.

  Carolyn poured herself a cup of coffee, and without asking handed Ella one, too. “Take a step back and stop trying to force the answers,” she advised. When Ella didn’t reply, Carolyn changed the subject. “I hear that the construction company working at the new power plant site found some artifacts this morning—not long after that trouble last night. The newspapers and media got wind of that, and now all hell’s breaking loose.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of this. When did you find out?” Ella asked, surprised.

  “I went upstairs for lunch and heard it from some staffers while in the cafeteria line. Apparently it made the noon news on the radio stations.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I’ve been concentrating on this case and haven’t had time to check in on the rest of the world. I’ll have to dig into it.”

  “Security has been beefed up again. The real bottom line here is that a lot of people are opposed to this new power plant. They think a nuclear reactor is just like a time bomb waiting to go off.”

  “I think they should take another long look at the choking smoke coming out of the old stacks then.”

  “Yeah, I agree with you.”

  Ella stared at Carolyn’s report for several moments longer, lost in thought. Reverend Campbell had been in the area, he knew Valerie, and there was a religious connection to the crime. His church baptized through immersion, she suspected, remembering the riverside baptisms her father had performed. Campbell’s church was probably similar, though she didn’t know that for sure. But the idea of Campbell being responsible for Valerie’s death was just too pat. Then again, sometimes the simplest answer was the best one.

  As Ella stood, Carolyn glanced up at her. “We need to get together soon, Ella. I’ve found a chocolate cake recipe that’s to die for.”

  Carolyn was a large woman who tipped the scale at around two hundred pounds, but she never worried about her weight. Unlike most of the women Ella knew, Carolyn never gave it a thought.

  “Your baking is second to none,” Ella admitted. “But I’ve got to trim down a little. Yesterday I had to chase down a suspect and, for a while there, I nearly pooped out. It was a rude awakening, believe me. I used to be able to run for miles without a problem.”

  “It’s called getting older,” Carolyn said after a loud guffaw. “You know, old friend, I think half of the women in this country have a problem because they try to look like anorexic runway models. Mind you, as an M.D., I can’t recommend being overweight, but the truth is that each of us has to find a weight we’re comfortable with. I’m happy the way I am, and that’s half the reason I’ve never had high blood pressure. Stress is the real killer. Now I agree that you need to stay fit, but portion control might work better than denial.”

  “You’ve convinced me. When this case is closed, I’m coming over.”

  “It’s a slow-cooker recipe. That might sound odd, but it tastes like chocolate souffle when it’s finished.”

  “That, I’ve got to try.”

  Leaving Carolyn to her work, Ella went upstairs to the main desk and inquired about Marco Pete.

  The nurse made a quick call, then glanced up at her. “The attending physician says he can’t be questioned. He’s in ICU.”

  “I
s he expected to make it?” Ella asked.

  “His chances are good. He’s in critical but stable condition.”

  Ella left the hospital, considering everything she’d learned. It was possible that Valerie’s killer had run Marco off the road in his eagerness to get away from the crime scene, especially if he thought Benny Joe might report the scream. According to Benny, Marco hadn’t been drunk. But it could also have been just an unrelated accident. Ella called Dispatch and got the directions to the site of Marco’s accident. She’d head there at the same time she checked in with Justine.

  “Gilbert Tso’s lawyer is working overtime to get him released,” Justine warned her immediately.

  “If Gilbert bolts we may never find him again,” Ella said quietly. “Just in case he’s released before we’re ready, see if we can assign someone to keep an eye on him for at least the first twenty-four hours. Maybe an officer looking for overtime.”

  As Ella continued down the highway, her gaze swept over the colorful wildflowers at the edge of the road, everything from bindweed with its purple blossoms to low growing pinks. Supplied mostly by runoff from the rare thunderstorms, the flowers came and went, just like the Navajos who came from the Earth Mother and returned to her someday.

  Realizing the turn her thoughts had taken, she shook her head and smiled. She was starting to think like her mother. Who’d have ever thought it?

  Pulling off to the side of the road at the site of the accident, easily located from the bright paint used by the investigating officers, Ella studied the skid marks on the asphalt and the furrows left by the tires as Marco descended down into the shallow arroyo. He’d tried to brake hard at the last minute, that was clear.

  Ella walked down the road, looking for other skid marks that might indicate another vehicle taking evasive maneuvers. But there was nothing—not a tread mark, or even a shard of glass—just the normal asphalt surface.

  Maybe she’d get more by studying the condition of Marco’s car. Had he been sideswiped? Were there paint traces there? Ella headed over to their impound yard.

  There was still the matter of Reverend Campbell to be considered, too. Justine had interviewed him, and couldn’t recall if Campbell had told her about his visit to the area around the time of the crime or not. Of course, when that interview had taken place, they hadn’t conclusively established the time of death and they’d been asking about Valerie, not what Campbell had been doing at the time. Campbell had been in the area, apparently, so it was possible he’d seen someone…or maybe he was the someone they were searching for. Questions rolled around in her head in an endless loop that yielded no answers.

  Ella pulled into the impound lot a short time later. Gene Begay, in charge of their motor pool, was sitting in a folding chair by the gate, sipping a cup of coffee. He stood and waved as he saw her pull up.

  “Thought I’d have company,” he said, coming over to meet her and unlock the gate. “That pickup brought in last night was a mess.”

  “Where’s it at?”

  He pursed his lips and pointed Navajo style to the far corner of the lot. “I heard about the murder. Happened about the same time this accident did, maybe,” he said, walking with her to what was left of the pickup.

  “Were you friends with the victim or maybe the driver?” Ella asked.

  “The victim. But it was a while back,” he answered and looked away. “Long before I took this job.”

  “What can you tell me about her?” Ella asked.

  “Telling you about her will be telling you about myself,” he answered slowly. “Don’t know how much good that’ll do either of us. As I said, it was a long, long time ago.”

  “I’m listening,” she insisted.

  “Back then, she was always hard up for cash ’cause she spent every dime on booze. So she…entertained.”

  “You mean she was turning tricks?” Ella countered, getting directly to the point.

  “Well, it was more personal than that,” he said. “She would choose one man and make herself available to him—for a price. I saw her as often as I could after my divorce. It was a no-strings-attached thing, and, except for all the drinking, it helped me with some problems I had after my wife left.”

  “How long ago was this?” she asked.

  “Maybe three years ago. But since then I heard she got sober, went to school, and got a regular job,” he said, then added, “Just don’t seem right, her murdered now and all. No justice…no balance.”

  Ella nodded. The possibility that an old client of Valerie’s had sought her out and been rejected gave the case an entirely new perspective. “Who else was she entertaining back then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ella gave him a hard look.

  “It’s the truth. She never spoke about any other men. For all I know, I was the only one…but I doubt it.” Gene pointed to the pickup ahead. “That’s the vehicle.”

  Ella walked over alone and examined the old Ford. It was covered with dust, and a few sturdy weeds from the trip into the arroyo were still wedged in between the crumpled bumper and the front grille. There were plenty of dents and scrapes, most of them new and shiny, but a lot had obviously been part of the vehicle for decades.

  Searching for characteristic scrapes from a recent collision with another vehicle, Ella studied the driver’s side, especially the front fender and door, but there was nothing there. Either he’d been forced off the road by someone very aware of what he was doing, or Marco had simply had an accident.

  Ella forced the door open and looked inside. Several bottles lay on the floor, all of them empties of the high-alcohol-content cheap wines found everywhere on the Rez, though it was illegal to sell booze on the reservation. As she looked around the back seat, Ella found a small crumpled piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it.

  Placing it inside an evidence pouch, Ella headed toward the gate, where Gene was standing, watching. “My crime scene people will be here later today, so don’t move the Ford without letting us know first,” Ella said. “We need to search it for evidence.”

  “It’ll remain untouched,” he said, with a nod.

  Ella studied Gene for a moment. At one time he’d been one of the best tribal officers around—dependable and with a cool head. But four years ago he’d shot a twelve-year-old who’d attacked him with a knife. He hadn’t been the same since. He’d started drinking, his marriage had fallen apart, and, after a year of desk duty and AA, he had requested a transfer and ended up here.

  Ella’s radio crackled and she heard a patrolman requesting immediate backup at the construction site for the nuclear power plant. Using the unit-to-unit frequency, she called the officer, Marianna Talk.

  “I’m fifteen minutes away. What’s your situation?”

  “About twenty demonstrators have hiked in to the work site, and are getting in the way of the construction. Some pot shards turned up this morning in the area being excavated, and word got out. The protestors are claiming the workers are desecrating holy ground, so they’re trying to put an immediate stop to the work. There are three security guards present, but they haven’t been able to catch any of the trespassers. The real problem is that the work crew is getting fed up and are about to take things into their own hands. I could really use some backup.”

  “Do the artifacts look like the real deal? Supposedly, the site was already checked out by the anthropologists and cleared.”

  “The ones I saw didn’t look old to me, but I’m no expert on Navajo pottery.”

  “Hang tight. I’ll be there.”

  Ella switched on her sirens and raced down the highway to the same turnoff she’d taken the other day. The gate was closed, and an anxious-looking security guard stood behind the fence, a two-way radio at his ear.

  The actual construction site was a mile farther down the road, and when Ella finally arrived, she spotted Officer Talk standing among a group of five men in white hard hats. The contractor’s vehicles, mostly bulldozers, graders, scrapers,
and a few big machines with knobby rollers, were parked together, their engines turned off. She could see operators or drivers in each of the cabs or seats.

  At least the workers were cooperating, Ella noted as she got out of her vehicle, Mace and baton in hand. The protestors were standing in a group about fifty feet away, down in a depression where several feet of earth had already been removed. Three men in dirty security guard uniforms were about halfway between the groups, standing beside a seated, chubby, handcuffed Navajo man in equally dusty street clothes.

  Ella walked over to Officer Talk. “Looks like you’ve managed to keep tempers from flaring so far.”

  “Just barely. When I got here, the demonstrators were running around in groups of two, getting in the way and forcing the machinery operators to stop or change direction to avoid hitting them. According to the foreman”—Marianna gestured toward Stover, the man Ella had seen the other night—“they showed up on foot in pairs, coming in from the direction of the highway.”

  “What about those artifacts?” Ella asked.

  Stover took a step forward, then pointed toward a white company pickup in the middle of the parked vehicles. “Got them locked in my toolbox. I think somebody sneaked them in early this morning and stuck the pieces just below the surface. They don’t look authentic. We saw some real tribal pottery at the meetings we had months ago with the experts. You know, so we’ve be able to protect any authentic sites.”

  “Did you pick up everything?” Ella asked. As she turned her head toward the group of demonstrators, she saw someone with a camcorder, maybe the same guy as before, filming them. He looked familiar, only this time he was wearing sunglasses in addition to the cap. Since none of the other demonstrators had anything but regular glasses on, the cameraman stood out.

  Cameraman tapped a huge guy in a gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans standing beside him on the shoulder, and the big Navajo stepped forward. She recognized the man, Albert Manus—a former tackle for the Kirtland Central Broncos football team. Now in his thirties, Manus worked as a bouncer at a Farmington bar. She knew this because Manus had a reputation for getting into fights, on the job or off, especially when encountering Shiprock High alumni. The rivalry between schools had been going on since the late Sixties, and word had it that Teeny had been the only one who’d ever kicked Albert’s butt.