Turquoise Girl

by Thurlo, David

  “That’s pretty much the way I remember it,” Dennis said. “And that’s where my notes end.”

  “But if we assume we’re dealing with the same killer—and the MO is too similar for me to believe in mere coincidence, why did he wait all this time to strike again?”

  “Good question,” Blalock said.

  “Maybe he’s been biding his time. Or maybe he was just passing through, needed cash, and decided to have some fun at the same time,” Dennis suggested. “Only he’s older now and the vic decided to really put up a fight. That ticked him off and, before he knew it, he’d beaten the woman to death—before he could immerse her in the tub.”

  “That’s one of the things that breaks the MO. But, just in case it is the same guy, we need to find out who the suspects were back then,” Ella said. “We need to look at what happened to the investigation after we were pulled.”

  “I agree, and that’s where VICAP or the L.A. cops are going to have to help you out. It’s out of my hands,” Dennis said. “But I wish you the best of luck. And if you’re ever in Denver, Ella…”

  Once Agent Anderson was off the line, Blalock glanced over at Ella. “I have a problem with coincidences as well, but the victim in the L.A. case was a Navajo woman. Do you think the local newspaper ran the story? If so, then its at least remotely possible that we’re dealing with a copycat.”

  “Which we have to rule out. Access the newspaper database,” Ella said, giving him her password.

  After several minutes, Blalock glanced up, then gestured toward his printer, where an image was starting to appear. “Looks like the story got picked up by the wire services first, and then it was run here, a day or two later. I’ll put in a request for information on the case from LAPD right now, okay?”

  Ella nodded, and as Blalock worked she scanned the printout of the newspaper article, which gave most of the details of the crime, including the drowning in the tub and a reference to the biblical quote. “There’s a lot of information here. Our suspect may not have been linked to what happened in L.A.,” Ella said, handing the paper to Justine next.

  Ella then filled Blalock in on what she’d learned about Brewster and his relationship with the women employees at the café.

  “Have you spoken to the other waitress yet?”

  “No, but there’s also Marco Pete, who may be connected…or not. We can’t question him until he’s out of ICU, but he was in the area at the right time. He might have seen something, or been part of what went down.”

  “Is an Anglo doctor handling his case?” Blalock asked.

  Ella nodded. “I believe so.”

  “Then I’ll visit the hospital tomorrow,” Blalock said. “If Marco’s recovered consciousness, maybe I can persuade the doctor to let me ask his patient a few questions.”

  “Good idea,” Ella said. Anglo doctors were sometimes more responsive to requests that came directly from the FBI.

  Blalock stood. “It’s getting late, and it’ll take hours for LAPD to dig up the information on the L.A. murder. Apparently it’s in their old system, and was never transferred because the case was cold. So let’s go talk to that waitress. If we wake her up and she’s half asleep and groggy, we might get more out of her.”

  Lynn Bidtah’s place was in the foothills of the Chuskas, a forty-five-minute drive from Shiprock. The road to the house was a joke interrupted by rocks and an occasional deposit of soft sand.

  “I’m getting way too old for this, ladies. Maybe I should retire,” he muttered, after either bouncing or fishtailing for fifteen minutes.

  Dwayne Blalock had been threatening to do that for the past five years. At first, Ella had thought he really meant it, but she’d grown to realize that he actually dreaded the fact that someday he would be forced to leave the Bureau. Being an agent had defined him for too long and, like most people who loved their work, he’d be lost without it. Of course he could open a PI firm, many former law enforcement people did, but that just wasn’t his style. Blalock and the Bureau were one and the same, even if he liked to gripe.

  “Do you want me to drive back? I realize that it’s almost ten, past your bedtime,” Ella said, teasing him.

  “Stuff it, Clah,” he growled, braking to a stop in front of the cinder block home nestled by a rocky slope. Here, the boulders were actually the size of large kitchen appliances, and the junipers were tall and full, unlike their stubby relatives closer to town.

  They remained several feet apart from each other as they walked to the house, with Ella in the center—a good defensive strategy when approaching a strange house at night.

  Ella knocked hard, standing to one side of the door as she’d been trained to do. There was the sound of an inner door being opened, then a porch light came on. Ella could hear someone’s slow, plodding steps inside.

  “Tribal police, Miss Bidtah,” Ella called out, identifying them. “Open up, please. We need to speak to you.”

  A moment later the door opened and a Navajo woman in her early thirties met them, wearing a dark green floor-length robe and thick blue socks. Her long black hair draped over her shoulders and hung down to her waist. As she stepped out onto the concrete slab of a porch, Ella saw the bruise that started at Lynn’s neck and went downward toward her breast and disappeared beneath her robe.

  “I’m Investigator Clah with the tribal police,” Ella said, flashing her badge, “and this is Officer Goodluck and Special Agent Blalock.”

  Justine held out her gold shield and Blalock stepped up, towering over Justine, who was almost a foot shorter, and displayed his own badge. “FBI,” he said.

  “What do you all want from me? It’s late and I have to be at work really early,” she said, blinking against the glare of the porch light.

  “We need to ask you some important questions,” Blalock said, pushing the door open and stepping inside instead of waiting for an invitation.

  “If this is about Valerie’s murder, I don’t know anything about it. When I left for the day, she was locking up. Then yesterday when I drove to the café, I saw the yellow crime scene tape and found out we were going to be closed for the day. That’s all I know, except for what I hear on the radio.”

  “We still need to talk to you,” Ella insisted, then pointed to the bruise. “That looks painful.”

  “Bruises always look worse after they quit hurting.”

  “How did it happen?”

  She shrugged.

  “Brewster? Did he do that to you?”

  Lynn’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been talking to that little whore, Lea, haven’t you?” she spat out. “She hates Stan, so she twists things around. You might as well know it right now. Lea’s a liar.”

  “Then why don’t you tell us about Stanley Brewster?” Ella said.

  “Is that what you’re after? You’ve all decided he had something to do with Valerie’s murder?” She sat down and tucked her legs beneath her.

  “We’re just looking into all the possibilities. But if you think we shouldn’t waste our time with him, convince us,” Ella said.

  “He’s a good man, but his wife just doesn’t understand him. He has certain…needs,” she said, then in a more resolute tone, added, “It’s good you came to me, ’cause I can set you straight.”

  Ella nodded, resisting the urge to groan in disgust.

  “I love Stan, and I have from the first time we hooked up. He’s a very virile man with a great fantasy life and very unique tastes in women. He likes games but he needs to be in control. The thing you have to remember is that he never forces a woman to do anything,” she said firmly, then added, “On the other hand, he appreciates a woman who’s willing to do what it takes to please him.”

  “Did pleasing him involve that bruise you’ve got?”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “I bruise easily. Besides, we both like to play a little rough. It’s consensual.”

  Ella noted that she’d glanced away, perhaps embarrassed or because she’d lied. “Does he normally leave bru
ises like that on his women?”

  “I’m the only one who really understands him, which is why we’re so free with each other. Stan and I can play rough, but Valerie wasn’t into that. If what you’re thinking is that they were playing games and it got out of hand, you’re wrong. Valerie didn’t go for stuff like that, and Stan does not force anyone.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” Ella pressed.

  “Yeah, I am. You’re really going off in the wrong direction. Stan and Valerie were never on the same wavelength, even before she went all holy on him. That’s why he dumped her. Then we hooked up. He never talks about her now. She’s old news.”

  “All right,” Ella said. Lynn believed what she’d told them, Ella was sure of that. But it didn’t necessarily mean it was the truth. If Stan cheated on his wife, he probably cheated on Lynn, too. “If he ever gets too rough with you, call me—if you’re still conscious and able to pick up a phone,” Ella said, handing her card to Lynn.

  “Won’t happen,” Lynn said. But she still took the card.

  Ella noticed how slowly Lynn rose from the couch, as if there were other injuries she wasn’t talking about.

  “You’re playing with your life. Watch out for yourself around an animal like Brewster,” Ella said.

  Lynn showed them to the door. “Stan isn’t a killer. We both get turned on when we play around like that.”

  “Hurting women for pleasure can slide into something more deadly,” Blalock said. “In this case, it may already have happened, and you don’t know it yet.”

  She shook her head. “He tells me how he wants things done, and disciplines me when I get it wrong. He likes ordering his woman around but it’s just a game.”

  “And you’re okay, knowing there’ve been others just like you in his life before?” Blalock asked.

  “No one can please him like I can. And pretty soon he’s going to leave his wife. He just has to figure out a way to get his share of their investments. She’s the one who really owns the café, you know.”

  Once they were outside, Justine glanced at Ella then at Blalock. “I may throw up. How can that woman be so stupid?” she said, getting into the car. “The man’s a cheat and a sadist. He may or may not be a murderer, but there’s no way she enjoys getting slapped around like that.”

  “Some men and women get off on abuse,” Blalock said quietly. “I’ve never understood that, mind you, but there are probably a million or so of them out there.”

  “Personally, the whole thing just makes me want to puke,” Ella said flatly. “But they are consenting adults, so there’s nothing we can do about it unless one of them lodges a complaint, or ends up in the hospital.”

  “Let’s call it a night,” Blalock said, swerving to avoid a big rock in the road.

  “Yeah. I think we all need to turn in,” Ella said. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll get the names of all Navajo men who began long-term jail sentences right after that murder in L.A., particularly any cons who’ve been released and may be in our area. I’ll concentrate on anyone with a connection to the Four Corners, then and/or now. Perhaps our killer was jailed for another crime, and is now finally free to drift back into old habits.”

  “I’ll see what LAPD was able to dig up on the old murder, then search the databases for you and let you know what I turn up,” Blalock said. “And tomorrow I’ll see if I can drop by the hospital and question Marco Pete. If he’s able to talk, that is.”

  Blalock returned them to the parking lot outside his office, where they changed vehicles and said their good-byes to the federal agent.

  “Do you think our problems with the Fierce Ones are really over for now, like Jimmy Levaldo said?” Justine asked as she slipped behind the wheel and fastened her seat belt.

  Ella shook her head slowly. “What they want most is power, and to get it, they need to make their mark. I think our problems with them are just beginning.”

  Nine

  Ella woke up shortly after daybreak. She could hear one of her roommates in the kitchen already, and the other one was in the shower. As she got dressed, her thoughts drifted to Dawn and Rose. She dearly missed the morning mayhem at home. Brushing aside the now familiar ache inside her, she focused on the day ahead.

  Ella walked into the kitchen moments later. “What’s cooking?” she asked, sniffing the air.

  “Well, I was making oatmeal for you guys, but when I went to add a dash of cinnamon, I opened the spoon side instead of the one with the sprinkle holes and dumped about a tablespoon into the stuff,” Emily said. “Did you know too much cinnamon makes your lips pucker? Anyway, I decided to make breakfast burritos instead.”

  “Those burritos smell…interesting. Must be the spices you’re using in the sausage,” Ella said, noting the peculiar expression on Justine’s face as she stepped into the kitchen and peered into the frying pan.

  Emily worked quickly, then brought several large, steaming hot burritos to the table. Ella was the first to take a bite. The dry texture and odd taste made her reach for a glass of water. “I think the sausage went bad, Em. Or maybe the tortilla picked up some mold,” she added, looking at the burrito critically.

  “This tortilla has a green pattern to it,” Justine said.

  “That’s because it’s made out of organic blue corn and humus. The filling is poy, not sausage. Vegan.”

  “Poh?” Ella asked, confused. “Vegan what?”

  “Poy. It’s pork-flavored soy. All pure vegetarian. Very healthy.”

  Justine gave Ella a horrified look. “I gave up healthy last week. This stuff is disgusting—no offense.”

  “Guys, upgrade your diet. This is good for you,” Emily said, taking a large mouthful, “and you can really keep off the weight.”

  “Probably because you can’t eat it,” Justine mumbled.

  Ella tried valiantly to swallow another bite, and managed to get the sawdust-flavored mix down her throat with a swig of coffee. Finally she put the burrito back onto her plate. “Sorry, Em, I’m allergic to health food. My body doesn’t know what to do without meat and cholesterol.”

  “It’s okay. I guess it’s an acquired taste. I made these for a friend once and he never came back.”

  Ella burst out laughing. “Okay, ladies, time to get to work.” Just then her phone rang. Ella identified herself and heard Blalock’s voice.

  “I got a reply on the Los Angeles murder of that Navajo woman. According to the files, the investigating officers reached a dead end a week after you and Anderson were taken off the case, and their people couldn’t come up with a suspect. So they were forced to drop it and move on.”

  Blalock continued. “Basically, we got zip, as far as any more info is concerned, so I was thinking we should pay Brewster a visit this morning—all of us. After what we found out last night, I’d really like a chance to put him in the hot seat.”

  “You’re on. How about we meet at the Morning Stop Café in twenty? He should be there.”

  “See you then.”

  Ella filled Justine in on the bad news from LAPD, then told her of Blalock’s plans. “Any idea where I can get some cutting-edge stuff on Brewster? The seedier, the better.”

  “My sister Jayne, naturally. She feeds on gossip, and she knows everyone. It’ll just be rumor, mind you, but it’ll probably be on target,” Justine said, dialing as she spoke.

  Ella and Justine arrived at the Morning Stop right on time, parking around the side of the building, closer to the apartment than the café. Business appeared to be good, considering the recent murder.

  Ella had driven because Justine was still on the phone, and they were just stepping out of their vehicle when Blalock pulled in to their left, on the driver’s side.

  “I ran a background,” he said, coming around to meet Ella at the tailgate of the SUV. “No charges for battery or spousal abuse. Nothing except one DWI. He’s been married for thirty years to one Donna Largo, a Navajo woman from Waterflow, originally. Donna took over this café from her parents when the
y died in a car accident about ten years ago. Mrs. Brewster has no record whatsoever. That’s all I’ve got.”

  Justine hung up as she walked around the vehicle and joined Ella and Blalock. “From what my sister Jayne said, Brewster’s wife has no taste for kinky sex. She knows he messes around, but she’s okay with it as long as he’s discreet and leaves her alone. The thing is, he doesn’t—leave her alone, I mean. Word is, he’s a mean drunk, particularly with her.”

  “Cowardly bastard,” Blalock said.

  “We know who we’re dealing with. Let’s go,” Ella said, her tone firm, her jaw set.

  They went inside the small café. Every seat at the counter was filled as were the six booths lining the wall. The scent of well-cooked real breakfast fare made Ella’s mouth water, and she looked at the diners stuffing their faces. Few looked up, but those who did watched for a second, realizing that the three newcomers were all armed law enforcement officers.

  Brewster, wearing a white uniform shirt and jeans, had his side to them, talking to a customer at the register. “I’m telling you,” he was saying, “I’m really shorthanded now. I can take care of the books, but unless I find a new cook and waitress, I’m going to go nuts.” Glancing over at them, he smiled. “Unless you’ve come for takeout, it’ll be a few moments before I can seat you. Sorry.”

  “We didn’t come for breakfast, Mr. Brewster. Is there a place where we can speak in private?” Ella asked.

  Half the patrons looked up from their plates, Ella noticed, and it suddenly got very quiet. Brewster smiled innocently around the room. “Sure. Give me a moment, officers.” He turned and looked into the kitchen, just beyond the half-height café doors. “Lynn, can you cover the front for a few minutes?”

  Lynn came over, glared at them, then gave Stan a big smile. “Sure thing, boss. We’re caught up at the moment anyway.” She came out and walked to the coffee brewer, picking up a carafe.

  Brewster led them through the café doors, across the kitchen, and into a back room. As he closed the door behind them, Ella took in the small storeroom/office at a glance. This was where Valerie had worked, apparently. On the desk was a small photo of Boots, obviously taken at one of the tribal fairs, based on the display booths in the background. It was a recent picture, and the reminder made Ella’s stomach clench.