“I’ve got backups of my case files in my safe, too,” Blalock said, “and nearly everything is backed on a Bureau server.”
The fire marshal came up, interrupting Blalock. “I can let you all inside now, but watch your step and try to stay out of the way of my people. We’re both going to have to work the scene at the same time.”
Ella nodded, looking at his name tag. Thomas Denetsosie. He’d worked the fire with the crews, and was looking at them through weary eyes. “We’ll be here till late sifting through everything. It looks like everyone got out in time, so hopefully we won’t find any bodies,” he said.
“It’s a weekend,” Blalock said. “I don’t think anyone else was around.”
“One person was. The custodian. We found…what was left of him,” Denetsosie said. “It looks like he’d been climbing into the truck, trying to stop it, when it hit the wall.”
There was nothing Ella could say. Hopefully, the tribe would be able to take care of the man’s family. He’d died while trying to save lives and that made him a real hero in her eyes. “Let’s get started,” she said, heading back into the partially gutted building.
“Just keep your eyes open for anything that’s still smoldering. We think we caught most of it, but you never know,” Denetsosie said.
A half hour later they were still searching Teeny’s gutted office using battery powered lanterns. Whatever was left of the papers or her father’s journal had disappeared in the two-inch-deep watery residue on the floor, or been pasted like confetti on the seared walls.
“I don’t think I can reconstruct any of the paperwork, Ella,” Justine said. “There’s just not enough of it left. And we’d have to be real lucky for the right information to have survived intact.”
“The guy hot-wired the truck and jammed a board into the accelerator pedal,” Blalock said in a tight voice. “He did his job well.”
“Yeah, but we’re going to do ours even better,” Ella answered, determination weaving through every syllable.
“Count me in all the way on this one,” Teeny said. “My services are on the house.”
She nodded, then looked at Justine. “I’m going to leave you to work this scene. With luck, the truck itself will give us some answers. Right now, there’s someone I need to see…after I get a clean change of clothes, that is.”
It was already dark by the time she arrived at Clifford’s home. As she switched off the engine, Clifford came out of the main house. “Don’t come in,” he said, walking up as she climbed out of her vehicle. “You’ve been around a death.”
“How’d you know?” she asked, surprised. This had to be a new record.
“One of the firemen is from the same clan as my wife,” he answered. “So am I right in assuming that the fire—and the attack on our mother—is connected to your work?”
“That would be my guess. That’s why I’ve arranged for extra patrols around Bizaadii’s house.”
“Good. The Fierce Ones have also offered their help. That’s partly out of embarrassment over what happened the other day when one of them almost shot you,” he said, then added, “I’ve heard that they’re already trying to figure out what happened to Mom’s sheep, too.”
Ella groaned. “Just what I need. Help from a group who acts without information…or patience.”
“Don’t dismiss them so quickly. They might be able to restore harmony in ways your department never could.”
Ella glared at her brother. “Are you taking the side of Boot’s grandmother now, saying I’m just an arm of bilagáana law and what they do is somehow more justifiable?”
“That’s not what I said,” he answered. “There’s good and there’s harmony in what you do, but sometimes it isn’t enough. All I’m telling you is that if you can find a way to work things out with them, you may discover they’re useful allies.”
“I choose allies I can count on, not ones who’re as changeable as the weather.”
He nodded slowly. “You have a point there.”
“I can’t give you any details, but I believe that the incident with Mom’s sheep is connected to the murder case we’re working on—the same one that led to that incident with the Fierce Ones.”
“I’ve heard gossip that our father’s church is somehow involved in what’s happening, too.”
“Involved…” Ella repeated thoughtfully. “I don’t know if that’s the right word, but they do feature in it,” Ella said. “That’s all I can tell you at this point.”
Clifford insisted on doing a blessing over her, then gave her a new jish a medicine pouch, for her to carry. Ella didn’t argue. She’d take any help she could get now.
After leaving her brother’s, Ella drove to Herman and her mother’s place over by Hogback, thirty minutes away by road. It was nearly nine now. Rose, who’d apparently heard her drive up, hurried out to meet her, a worried look on her face. “Are you okay?” she asked quickly, ushering Ella inside. “I heard all about what happened in Shiprock.” She looked at the jish Ella had attached to her belt. “I’m glad you went to see your brother.”
“This jish will help set a lot of people at ease,” Ella explained, then took the cup of tea her mother offered. “Mom, I need you to think back. Did Dad ever try to train a successor? Another preacher to take over for him some day?”
“It’s strange that you should ask me that,” she said, wiping the kitchen counter before joining Ella at the table. “That passage of Scripture left with the sheep started me thinking.”
Ella waited, knowing that the most important news often came while sitting around the kitchen table.
“Your father knew early on that his own son would never follow his ways. That’s when he made the decision to bring in another Navajo minister who understood The People. He said it would be his legacy. But it wasn’t an easy process. It took years for him to find someone he trusted enough, someone he thought would care about that church as much as he did.”
“Who did he choose?”
“I haven’t been able to remember his Anglo name…something biblical. But I do remember the name some Navajos gave him. It was ha’asídí. It means ‘the watchman.’ He got that because he was always watching people. That made everyone uncomfortable, even the Christians. Ha’asídí tried to explain it away saying that he liked to study people because there was always more to them than their words revealed. But I think he enjoyed making people uncomfortable. I told your father that once, but he said I was being too judgmental. I never said anything to him about it again.”
“This ha’asídí. Is he still living around here?” Ella asked.
“I don’t think so. Your dad and he had a falling out. Stories got back to us that Ha’asídí was telling parishioners that your father had dishonored the Christian God by marrying a heathen. Your father had a long talk with him, but it didn’t do much good. Then the two began to disagree on almost every church issue. Not long after that, Ha’asídí started using Scripture to justify whatever he wanted to do. Your father lived by his beliefs, and that was a great offense to him.”
“What happened?”
“Your father got the church elders together at a meeting and they voted Ha’asídí out of the church. I believe he left Shiprock soon afterward, but I’m not sure.”
“Did he misuse any particular passages? Something you might remember?”
Rose thought back. “This man claimed that sinners had to be punished here and now in order to save their souls. Your father disagreed, saying it was anti-Christian. Then your father learned Ha’asídí had beaten up a boy he’d caught writing graffiti on the outside wall of his print shop. Your father was furious then, on top of that, he found out that the man had been going around quoting a Bible passage that said whoever killed a man should be punished by man—or something like that. Your father just couldn’t let that go and accused him publicly of promoting violence and undermining the church’s reputation. He was stripped of his office and was never allowed to attend services again.”
“Think back, Mom. Do you know of anyone who might remember Ha’asídí’s Anglo name?”
She shrugged. “No. But do you think he’s returned, and is making trouble? What’s here that he could possibly want?”
“That’s a very good question.” And an even better one was what all this had to do with Valerie Tso’s murder.
“Do you know if Ha’asídí ever dated your friend’s daughter?” Seeing the anger flash in Rose’s eyes, she added, “Make that your former friend’s daughter.” Ella had deliberately avoided using Valerie’s and Lena Clani’s name out of respect for her mother’s ways.
Rose considered it, then sighed. “I wish I could remember, but I don’t. Talk to my former friend, if she’s come to her senses and allows you in the door. She’ll remember. Mothers do.”
Ella left shortly after nine. It would be late by the time she arrived at Lena’s, but Ella wasn’t worried. Lena would be happy to know Ella was working overtime to find her daughter’s killer.
Ella had just reached the main highway near Hogback when her cell phone rang. It was Justine.
“I’ve confirmed that the truck was rigged to crash into the wall and that a lit flare was thrown between two of the fuel containers. The truck itself belonged to one of the construction companies working at the power plant site. They reported it missing hours earlier. Neskahi talked to their security guard but, according to what he was told, no one saw anything. He’ll follow up on that tomorrow.”
“What about the truck itself? Any prints we can use?” Ella asked.
“It was scorched so badly there was no hope of finding any prints, but we got lucky anyway. The explosion blew the flare a hundred yards from the wreckage and I found some partial prints on that. We’re running what we got now but we need at least eight identification points to really nail down any one individual and we don’t have them.”
“What about the church records? Did they survive?”
“No, but Teeny managed to remember some of the names on the list and he’s checking those out now. That’s the best we’ve got.”
“Anything with a C?”
“Not that I remember from the list he made. Hang on and I’ll take a look.” Justine picked up the phone again a moment later. “No, nothing.”
“Where are you? At the station?”
“Yeah, in the lab. I wanted to start processing the evidence immediately and I also needed a change of clothes. I could handle both here.”
“How about I stop by and pick you up on the way to Lena Clani’s?” Ella asked. “Right now she’s unstable, so I’d like someone there as a witness in case things don’t go as planned.”
“Good idea. Last time, you needed backup, remember? I’ll be in the lobby waiting.”
Ella stopped by the station—about midway to Lena’s—picked up Justine, and soon they were on their way again.
After Ella updated her, they drove in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Finally as they drew near Lena’s home, Justine spoke. “Let me make sure I’m on the same track as you, Ella. In addition to this ‘ladies’ man’ we’ve been trying to ID, you’re adding your father’s apprentice to our suspect list. You’re now looking for a link between him and the victim that’ll lead to an evidence trail. Is that the way it stacks up?”
“Exactly. We’re missing a vital connection somewhere. Navajo ways say that everything in interrelated. I think that’s particularly true in this case. Once we find that link we’ll have the answers we need to catch the killer, whether he turns out to be the ladies man, the apprentice, or somebody else entirely.”
Seventeen
Lena was outside on her small porch sitting on a bench when Ella pulled up. Lena stood, took a close look at their vehicle, then motioned for them to come inside. Nobody said a word.
Ella couldn’t help but notice that the woman looked as if she’d aged twenty years since her daughter’s murder. Lena had lost all energy in her step, and her back was hunched slightly. As they went into the living room, Ella noticed her reddened, swollen eyes and the dark circles under them.
“What are you doing to catch my daughter’s killer?” Lena’s tone made the question a half plea and half imperative demand.
After all the trouble Lena had caused, Ella was finding it difficult to be sympathetic. “Working very long hours, obviously. We’re here now.”
“How can I help you?”
Ella told Lena about the conversation she’d had with her mother. “Do you remember the man my mother mentioned?”
Lena nodded. “He was seeing my daughter. I disliked him intensely, which was probably why she insisted on seeing him. Part of growing up, I suppose. The problem, of course, was that he was also very handsome and knew just what words to say. Young women flocked to him and that fed his ego…which made him even worse.”
“I need a name,” Ella said.
“Your mother told you his nickname, right?”
Ella nodded. “I need his Anglo name.”
“Calvin…no, Caleb…Frank, I think. He was a bad seed, that one. I remember he gave my daughter a nickname, one that I found particularly offensive. He called her his Turquoise Girl. I tried to explain to my daughter how disrespectful that was to the Diné’s Turquoise Girl. She inhabits Mount Taylor, one of our sacred mountains, and hers isn’t a name that should be thrown around so casually,” Lena said, then shaking her head, added, “I can tell you this much. I was really glad when his church kicked him out and he moved away.”
“Thanks for the information. We appreciate it,” Ella said.
“But this can’t be the man who killed my daughter. He was as serious about religion as your father. They just had different ways of looking at it. As I said before, I think you should be looking at the Anglo who runs the diner. He was involved with my daughter and no one knows for sure where he was when she was killed. Some believe he was in the neighborhood that night.”
“You’re very well informed, but you don’t have the whole story—and neither do we. Until we see how everything fits together, we won’t know anything for sure.” Ella gave Lena a physical description of the man she’d seen at the ditch. “Does that sound like Caleb to you?”
“Not really, except for the height. Caleb was handsome and took special pains with his appearance. And he was on the chunky side. But then again, it’s been a long time since I last saw him. And scars can drastically change anyone’s appearance.”
When they reached the car, Ella glanced at Justine. “We have to run Caleb Frank’s name through NCIC and VICAP. We should also talk to Reverend Curtis before he finds out that the church records went up in smoke. Maybe he can tell us about Caleb Frank now that we have a name.”
“Tache is still at the station, I’ll bet. He could run Caleb Frank for us while we pay Reverend Curtis a visit at the parsonage.”
Ella called Ralph Tache and found him at his desk, still going through the evidence. “Did you get anything from the photos you took at the office complex?” Ella asked.
“Not yet. The building had outside surveillance cameras because of the Bureau office, but those went up with the building and no images survived. I do have some information on the prints Justine found. I ran them against our suspects and there are points matching Stan Brewster’s. But before you get too excited, we have matching points that lead us to Reverend Campbell, too, and ten thousand other possible hits in the national database.”
“Okay. Let that go for now. I’ve got a name I want you to run, a Navajo man in his forties or early fifties—Caleb Frank. I want everything you can get me on this guy.”
“Everything?” Tache repeated. “If that’s the case, you may be better off letting me pass this on to someone who can search data banks I’ll never be able to access.”
Ella was surprised to hear Teeny’s voice in the background asking for the phone. A moment later he got on. “I’ll get you what you need,” Teeny assured her. “I got the name from Tache and I’m on it.”
“B
ut your computers…”
“The ones in my office are trashed, but I’ve got last year’s technology in my Farmington office, and next year’s at home.”
“Go for it then. Let me know what you come up with as soon as you can.”
“Will do.”
It was ten-thirty by the time they pulled up in front of the church, but the lights were still on in the preacher’s office. “Maybe we should have called, but I didn’t want to give him time to prepare. Once people are on their guard, it’s difficult to get anything useful out of them.”
“Looks like he’s still working, or someone else is,” she said, pointing to the back office.
Ella and Justine walked down the side of the building and knocked on the back door to the office. Ella identified herself in a clear, loud voice for the benefit of anyone inside.
Moments later Reverend Curtis came to let them in. “I’m surprised to see you two here so late.”
“We work long hours, as do you from the looks of it,” Ella answered.
“I’ve been working on Sunday’s sermon,” he said and led them to his office. “By the way, I’m glad to see you two are safe. I heard on the radio about that fire at the government offices.” He made himself comfortable in his chair and waved them to two others. “So tell me, what can I do for you?”
“We need to ask you about a man by the name of Caleb Frank. I understand he was part of this church during my father’s time.”
“Caleb…” he repeated, then shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
“Let me jog your memory. He and my father had some serious differences of opinion. I’ve gathered that he was very charismatic and liked to use Scripture to justify the need for retribution in the here and now.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, now I remember. He’s the man I told you about earlier—natzee. There’s a file on him somewhere, I think. Or it might be with the records you took.”
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