Bad Medicine

by Aimée

  Ella pointed to the tracks by pursing her lips, Navajo style. “What do you make of those?”

  “Someone on a pogo stick?”

  Ella smirked. “Not likely.”

  “A crutch?”

  Ella nodded slowly. “Maybe. A thin crutch, though. I’ve been tossing the idea around in my head that it is more like a walking stick, or cane.”

  “If it is a person with a bum leg, where are the footprints?”

  “Moccasins don’t leave much of an imprint.” Ella pointed to a small, flat indention about the size of a foot.

  “Maybe someone is pressing bottle tops into the dirt to drive you crazy. Little things like that do, you know. If I was trying to confuse you, that’s what I’d do.”

  Ella glanced up at her in surprise. “It is making me crazy.”

  “See? I bet I’m not the only one who knows you well enough to push the right buttons.”

  “But it’s an important clue. I can’t just ignore it.”

  “Then factor it in along with the tread marks, footprints, and notes you’ve been getting.”

  Ella heard vehicles coming up the dirt track, and when she glanced down the road, saw the flashing police lights. “That’s my crime scene team. They’ll search the trailer and entire area as soon as the fire department guys extinguish the fire.”

  It was another hour before the fire was completely out and the police team could enter the ruined structure, but at least the fire truck in the district had not been on call, so they’d been able to respond fairly quickly. Had it been later in the summer, they might not have received any response at all. All available pumpers would have been busy elsewhere. In a drought year, fires had a tendency to spread and go out of control. Even though the vegetation in this area of the Rez was sparse, the plants were very dry, and flames could travel quickly when fanned by the wind.

  Fortunately, Carolyn’s propane tank had not exploded, so most of the shell of the trailer was relatively intact. When the captain of the four-man fire-fighting unit gave them the all-clear, Justine and Ute moved in. Ella helped them search through the ruins of the trailer and recover what was left of the Molotov cocktails. They were tagged and bagged for further information.

  Ralph Tache stayed outside, photographing the tire tracks and the quarter-sized imprints.

  When the search was finished, Justine reported to Ella, and offered her condolences to Carolyn.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to find whoever did this?” Carolyn asked Justine. “Were there any clues at all?”

  Justine looked at Carolyn. “We’ll do our best, Doctor, but to be honest, our department has their hands full right now. It’ll be a while before we have the time and manpower to start checking up on the people you’d consider your enemies.”

  Carolyn nodded. “Yeah, and that’s a list that’s growing with each passing minute, isn’t it.”

  Ella gave Justine a hard look then glanced sympathetically at Carolyn. “We may not be able to give this our undivided attention right now, but we’re not going to let it drop either.”

  Justine nodded in agreement, then moved away to rejoin her team.

  “The police would rather forget all about this, you know.”

  “It’s true your trailer isn’t a top priority, despite your personal loss. But the assault on your life—and mine—is. Don’t judge Justine too harshly. We’re all overworked and tired of hitting our heads against the wall. But don’t mistake weariness and frustration for indifference. We’ll see this case through.”

  “Thanks for saying that. I needed to hear it.”

  As Ella’s team cleared out, Carolyn sat on her one possession that had survived, a metal and nylon lawn chair that had been outside the trailer all along. “It cost all of five bucks at the flea market, but now it’s all I have. That and my trashed pickup.”

  “No. You’ve got yourself and your medical degree. With that, you can recoup what you’ve lost. You’re your own most valuable commodity.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk, old pal, but maybe you should start thinking of distancing yourself from me.”

  “I’m not sure who that comment insults more, you or me,” Ella said flatly.

  “It’s expediency, nothing more, nothing less. I need you to investigate what’s happening. The more we’re linked together, the more of a shadow people will cast on your ability to remain objective. I have enough problems without having you, my best hope for a fair investigation, taken off this case.”

  “Unless Senator Yellowhair becomes the next chief of police, that won’t happen. Big Ed has a lot of pride. He will not allow anyone to tell him how his department should be run. He also knows that I’ll turn over every rock on this reservation until I find the people behind these crimes. I won’t let him down, anymore than I’ll let you down.”

  “Is that your pride talking, or confidence in your skill?” Carolyn countered.

  “A bit of both,” Ella conceded. “But in the final analysis, it all amounts to the same thing. I will get answers.”

  Ella drove Carolyn to her mother’s home. Throughout the drive, a curious silence hung between them. Ella wasn’t at all sure what her mother would say, or think, about having Carolyn as a semipermanent guest. But Ella was sure Rose would not embarrass either her or Carolyn by turning away Ella’s friend in need. That assurance, for the moment, was enough.

  Rose came out to the Jeep as soon as Ella drove up. Her features were shrouded with concern. “I heard what happened. It was on the radio.” She smiled sympathetically at Carolyn. “I know what it’s like to lose the irreplaceable to a fire,” Rose said, reminding them without further explanation of the fire that had gutted Ella’s room about a year ago. “Yours was even worse than the problem we had here, if the reports are true.”

  “There’s nothing left of the trailer except a shell,” Ella said.

  “Then Dr. Roanhorse will stay with us until she can find a new home,” Rose said firmly. “And share our clothes until she can buy some of her own.” She turned to lead the way inside the house.

  “That wasn’t an invitation. It was more along the lines of an order,” Ella said with a smile.

  “I noticed,” Carolyn answered. “But don’t worry, I won’t wear out my welcome.”

  “I wasn’t worried. You were.”

  Rose fixed Carolyn and Ella a simple meal of tortillas layered with meat, cheese, and chile. “You have to eat something. You’ve been through a great deal tonight, and it’s just the beginning.”

  Ella glanced up quickly. Her mother sometimes knew things before they happened, and Ella knew that her predictions were seldom wrong. “What do you mean, Mom?” she asked, her voice taut.

  “Carolyn will have a difficult time finding a place to live. She will also have to fight for her career and her reputation, and her enemies will gain power if she allows herself to grow weary of the battle.”

  Carolyn looked at Ella, then at Rose. “I am tired of fighting, but I won’t give up. I can’t. Everything I am, and everything I love about my life, is on the line.”

  “When you get discouraged, you must not let others see that.” Rose said. “Like wolves, they’ll zero in on weakness.”

  “But here, I’m among friends,” Carolyn said with obvious relief.

  Rose smiled and nodded. “Here, you don’t have to keep up appearances. We’ll guard one another. Isn’t that what my daughter suggested?”

  Ella glanced at Carolyn, who was already looking at her in surprise. “I may have said…”

  Rose held up a hand. “Don’t bother to deny it. You forget, I know my daughter.” She stood up and went to the sink.

  Carolyn looked at Ella and opened her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I didn’t say anything,” she mouthed.

  Ella sighed and shrugged. “Get used to it,” she whispered. “She does this a lot.”

  “I have some other news,” Rose said, turning from the sink. “I went to a weaver’s guild meeting today. You know, it’s fun
ny how women reveal things during our work and practice sessions. Everyone talks so freely. I guess it’s just relaxing to weave.”

  “What did you find out, Mom?” Ella prodded gently.

  “It’s about the senator’s daughter. Did you know that she was running around with a married man?”

  “You know who her boyfriend was?” Ella sat up abruptly. “I’ve been trying to find out his name for days.”

  “I don’t have a name for you. All I learned was that he was a married man.”

  “Who told you? Maybe I can ask her…”

  “She doesn’t know his name. If she did she would have told me.”

  “Mom, this is a police matter. I’ve got to ask her myself, to find out what else she might know.”

  “No,” Rose answered firmly. “What we say during the meetings is confidential. It’s an unwritten rule. That’s what fosters the closeness between us. To violate that trust would cost me dearly. I wouldn’t be welcome again.” She met her daughter’s eyes. “I don’t want to lose that, I’ve lost too much in my life already. I need the companionship these women offer, and their friendship. Do you understand?”

  “You’re putting me in a terrible position,” Ella said, sympathizing with her mother, yet torn by duty. She knew that her mother’s visits with the other women in the community represented her recent attempts to build a new life of her own. It was a step in the right direction for Rose, but Ella’s duty compelled her to keep pressing. “Maybe I should talk to all of them, and reason with them.”

  “If you go to talk to the members of the guild about this, they will not confide in you. And, from that point on, they will never speak freely to me again.”

  Ella weighed her options. “Mom, I really need the name of the boyfriend. There’s got to be a way for you to help me.”

  Rose said nothing for several long moments. “Come to my next Plant Watchers meeting. It’s tomorrow afternoon. Many of the same women will be there. Listen more than you speak and tread carefully with your questions and maybe they’ll help you.” Rose took the dishes away. “Why don’t you get some sheets and a pillow from the hall closet, and then decide where you want your friend to sleep.”

  “Okay.” Ella led Carolyn down the hall. “You can have my room.”

  “Absolutely not. You’re doing enough putting me up. Tell me where you would have slept had I accepted, and I’ll sleep there.”

  “I was going to sleep in my father’s old study. It’s now my office,” she said, taking some bedding from the linen closet. “There’s a sofa bed in there but, I warn you, it’s lumpy and only slightly more comfortable than sleeping on the ground.”

  “That’s my spot, then. You have a full day at work tomorrow.”

  “Normally I’d at least try to pretend I’m a good hostess and argue with you, but I’m too beat. And I know you’re too stubborn to concede.” She handed Carolyn the bedding. “Make yourself at home.”

  * * *

  Ella woke up to the shrill ringing of the phone. She reached over to the nightstand and accidentally knocked the receiver to the floor. Grumbling, she pulled it up to the bed by the cord.

  “Yes? Hello?”

  “Wake up Shorty. We have a situation.”

  Ella sat up. She knew Big Ed well enough to know that a “situation” meant all hell was breaking loose. “What’s the trouble, Chief?”

  “The miners were finishing their shift, when half of them decided to tear the other half apart again. We have a few units there, but the fight keeps moving to other areas of the parking lot. All my available cops, on or off duty, are being ordered to respond.”

  “On my way.”

  “Watson, the Anglo supervisor who spoke to you, has been injured again, by the way.”

  “Where’s he now?”

  “In the infirmary. The mine has a full-time RN in addition to the part-time help from the Medical Center. Go talk to Watson as soon as you can. When people have a gripe they generally become more talkative.”

  “On my way,” she said, pulling up her jeans as she cradled the receiver between her head and shoulder. “Who’s in charge at the scene?”

  “Sergeant Hobson.”

  Ella hung up. Arnold Hobson was a cop’s cop. He was in his mid fifties, and came from a long line of law enforcement officials. Quite imposing, he resembled the trunk of an old cottonwood, gnarled, rough, and totally immovable. She couldn’t think of anyone better to handle a civil disturbance.

  Ella rushed out to her Jeep, checked her riot gear, then sped away. Carolyn and her mom were still sleeping. There seemed little point in waking them. They’d know she was out on duty once they saw the Jeep was gone.

  Once on the main road, Ella flipped on the sirens, and sped toward the mine. She was completely alert, but she still wished she could have had at least one cup of coffee. Her mouth tasted like the bottom of a bird cage, which probably meant terminal halitosis. If anyone gave her any crap, she’d breathe on them.

  She pulled to a stop behind the line of patrol cars. Four uniformed cops were trying to pull apart a group of at least twenty-five men. A breeze was blowing, and that made it difficult to use pepper gas. The apparent plan was to grab a combatant, handcuff him, then go back for another, but with two cops per man, it was difficult keeping up. Fists were flying and angry shouts filled the air. As she stepped out of the Jeep and hurried to put on her gear, she saw Justine pulling up.

  When one of the Navajo men turned to attack an officer who already had his hands full, Ella jumped in, poking the man in the stomach and chest with the end of the baton, forcing him back.

  Justine soon followed, fighting beside Ella. “Back off!” she snapped as a tall Anglo almost twice her weight approached. The man limped back, grabbing his knee where it had been struck sharply with the baton.

  Ella moved to back Justine up, but before she could, Justine had the man on the ground, cuffed, and was looking around for another troublemaker.

  Ella worked her baton overtime, separating the men one at a time, then cuffing them with tough nylon strips designed for that purpose and included in their riot gear. Soon her arms were aching and tired, and her body sore from all the buffeting and deflected blows she’d taken. At least now there were more men on the ground than standing up.

  Like her, Justine remained on her feet. Sergeant Hobson was following Ella’s lead with the temporary cuffs, then hauling troublemakers away, two at a time, and tossing them into the back of the police van.

  “You’re in fine form,” Hobson said, as he slammed the doors of the van shut. “Glad to see I don’t have to baby-sit you out here.”

  Ella glared at him. He was part of the old school, and this type of harassment wasn’t uncommon. “Stuff it, Grandpa.”

  He grinned. “Good. You have a sense of humor instead of a chip on your shoulder.”

  Ella stared at him wordlessly, her hand gripping the baton tightly while she told herself that she would not use it against a fellow officer—no matter how well deserved.

  “What triggered all this, Sergeant?” she snapped.

  “Near as I can figure, one of the Anglo workers found someone had poured sugar into the gas tank of his truck. He blamed one of the Navajo miners, and threw a punch. Everyone else jumped in, and the free-for-all was too much for the two security guards on duty.”

  Justine joined her. “Between the guards, who are really ticked off I might add, and the rest of our guys, this situation is under control now. Shall I help you question those in the infirmary?”

  She nodded. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Ella waited for Howard Lee to check the bandage on Randy Watson’s head. The infirmary was crammed, with some bandaged miners sitting on the floor. Lee greeted her quickly, too busy to do more than nod. As soon as he examined Watson, he moved away. Watson stood, caught Ella’s eye, and headed for the door. Ella went with him, matching his strides down the hall. The calm, logical man she’d spoken to before was now angry, struggling t
o keep the lid screwed tight on his temper.

  “The tribal police can’t keep the peace here, that’s painfully clear. And the Anglos are having the worst of it. We have no protection of any kind. We’re outnumbered, and on your ground, so you’ve got the advantage. We’re being discriminated against because we’re white, even though we work for the tribe.”

  “Discrimination?” she shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that. A pickup that belonged to an Anglo was ruined, that’s true, but a Navajo, maybe two, lost their lives a few days ago. Right now, you’re angry because you’ve got a bad back and now someone whacked your skull, but I saw several Navajos in the infirmary with injuries, too.”

  “I don’t see the tribal police doing anything to protect anyone, except show up after the fact to arrest people. It’s particularly bad for the Anglos. We’re all being targeted. Vandalism is rampant. The other day a half-dozen men had the sides of their cars keyed or their headlights smashed. I had bags full of ashes spread all over my brand new truck, inside and out. It was hell to clean.”

  Ella was shocked. In the Navajo way, the power was never in the item itself, but in what it represented. Spreading ashes during the day was said to be an insult to Sun, and left a trail for Poverty. It had been meant, in this case, as a curse. What bothered her most was that it was a stunt a skinwalker would have pulled. She was relieved when Watson didn’t ask her any questions about it, and dismissed it as an act of vandalism.

  “Ashes? When did that happen?”

  “After daybreak yesterday. I was just back at work the first day since my accident, putting in some overtime to make up for the time when I was laid up. The purpose of all this, of course, is to force us to quit, because we can’t afford to keep fixing what’s broken or having their vehicles repaired constantly. You see that, don’t you?”

  “Have many Anglos quit?”

  “Only a few have, but I’ll tell you this. The rest of us who are still here won’t quit. We have families to support, and we’re too damn stubborn to allow anyone to run us out. Confrontations like the one outside today will happen more often because neither side will back down.”