“Representing the tribe’s position on the issue before us are two Navajos you all know,” he said, waving his hand toward Billy Garnenez and Frieda Beard. “The family who occupies the land in question is also here,” he said, gesturing to Emerson Lee and his daughter. Ford grew silent for a moment, and in that silence, no one even stirred.
Ella smiled. Even without words, he had control of the room.
“I’ll now ask the ones who occupy the land to speak,” Ford said, then nodded to Emerson.
Ella watched Emerson Lee carefully, curious to see if he’d use his crazy old man act tonight. It took her only a few seconds to realize it would be just the opposite. As he stood and went to the podium she saw that there was a quiet dignity in the way he walked, allowing his daughter to steady him.
Emerson took his place behind the mike, looked at those gathered there, and in a strong voice began. “Before the Anglos came up with the idea of grazing permits, the land belonged to all of us. We honored the Earth Mother and she, in turn, took care of us. She fed our animals and they provided us with their meat and wool. The circle renewed itself and we walked in beauty. Now we depend on outsiders and their jobs to buy what we need. If we keep going down that road, we’ll eventually forget who we are and lose everything that matters.”
Trina, who’d stood beside him, spoke now. “Our elected officials represent us, not the other way around. Family traditions, our way of life, need to prevail. If we lose that, we’ll lose ourselves. Then it won’t only be the old ones who’ll die of the ch’ééná, that sadness for what can’t return. All of us will wake up one day, after it’s too late, and see that the invisible line that separated us from the Anglo world has disappeared. We’ve become them, and they are us.”
Ford stepped up as the small building went from utter silence to a thunderous round of applause.
“Those representing the tribe will now be given the opportunity to speak. Remember that, as Navajos, we’re taught that everything has two sides. Honor our ways by listening to both.”
The statement coming from Ford surprised her, but as she heard the ripple of assent that ran through the room, she knew that once again The Voice had struck a victory.
A new silence descended over the room as Frieda Beard stepped up to the podium.
“What has been said here today is all true,” Frieda said, and a murmur of surprise went around the room. “The old ways define and sustain us. They are us.” As she paused, all eyes were on her. “Using the land to grow plants that can bring jobs, and put food on our tables honors the Earth Mother. Everyone wins when we take a nuisance weed with little or no value and make it serve us on otherwise unproductive land. Unlike the mines, where we robbed from the earth, this allows us to work in harmony with it. Compromise on the issues—where all parties sacrifice just a little so that everyone wins—is within our reach tonight. Certainly land can be set aside for development without displacing a family, and the tribe is willing to guarantee such a solution. But in order to feed our children, provide for our elderly, and ensure the independence of our Navajo Nation, the Diné have to stay in step with the times. We need the dollars the Prickly Weed Project will provide.”
Ella closed her eyes, then opened them again. Frieda had been doing great—especially with the hint of a compromise—till those last two sentences. Almost as her thought formed, a man on the front right of the crowd jumped to his feet.
“Compromise—just to feed the tribe’s endless quest for money? I say no. Those dollars will take away more than they give us. If we don’t hang on to the grazing land that feeds our livestock, we’ll all go hungry.”
Others began to shout in assent, drowning out Professor Beard as she tried to respond. Ford took the podium again, but the chaos that had already erupted was hard to control.
“Where are those cowards—Yellowhair and Begaye? Do they think they’re too good to listen to the voices of The People?” a woman in the front row shouted.
Ella looked between the heads in the way, but it was impossible for her to ID the person who’d just spoken, and she didn’t recognize the voice.
Ford tried to calm the crowd, but his words were drowned out despite the speaker system. Suddenly he stuck both pinkies in his mouth and let out the shrillest cowboy whistle she’d ever heard. People covered their ears, cringing.
A moment later Ford smiled as he faced the gathering. “Now that I’ve got your attention . . .” As he took a breath, the man in the back began shouting again. Ford immediately demanded that he identify himself. When the man refused, Ford nodded to one of the uniformed officers up front, who responded by escorting the man out.
“We stand for balance and peace. If we forget that, we all lose,” Ford said.
Billy came to the podium next and took the mike. “Friends, we need to face some hard facts. Most of our young people don’t raise livestock anymore. It’s hard to make a living farming these days. That’s why our children leave the reservation in search of new lives and a way to support their families. The Prickly Weed Project can raise cash for scholarships and other services that’ll nurture a better future for everyone on the Dinétah. We have to stop looking to the past for answers and move forward. That’s the only way our tribe can continue to walk in beauty.”
“We’re becoming so much like the Anglos, our young people don’t know who they are anymore. That’s the real problem we’re facing. Can’t you see that?” a man shouted. When he refused to sit down, another officer escorted him out.
Billy continued. “The land in question doesn’t support alfalfa, corn, or melons—only wild grasses and weeds. It wasn’t until a week or two ago that sheep were brought in to graze there. The residents gave up their grazing permits years ago. Up until last month, two of the three current residents left the reservation every morning to go to their jobs—working for Anglos in the city. Tonight, they tried to tell you that they support the old ways, but they don’t walk their talk. That proves they aren’t part of the solution—they’re part of the problem. A compromise is possible, yet they walk away, hands over their ears so not to listen to reason.”
More shouts followed, and throwing his hands up in the air, Billy moved away from the podium.
Trina Morgan quickly stepped up to the microphone. “This is not the time for anger. Clear heads are needed, now more than ever.”
For a moment or two Ella thought that Trina had reached them, but the man seated next to Emerson suddenly jumped up and yelled at Garnenez, calling him a liar and a traitor. Then a second man in the row behind him stood, trying to force Emerson’s supporter to take a seat.
Ella wasn’t sure who threw the first punch. All she knew was that in the blink of an eye, everything fell apart. People were pushing their way to the exit as cameras rolled and officers waded into the fray.
“We need to get Frieda and Billy out of here in one piece,” Ella shouted to Justine. “There’s an emergency exit on the south side of the room.”
“We’ll never make it to the podium,” Justine said, trying to push forward through the crowd.
Before Ella could reply, someone hurled a folding chair at Ford. He ducked, deflecting it with his forearm. As it bounced away, it nearly struck Frieda, who’d come up behind him.
Taller than most, Ella fought her way through the throng. By the time she reached Frieda, who was trapped in a corner, Ella had nearly been knocked down twice. Refusing to let anything deter her, she grabbed Frieda’s arm, took the lead, and worked a path toward the south exit, their backs to the wall.
Justine joined them, having located Billy, who’d been knocked to the floor and had a bloodied nose. As they reached the side door, one of the men who’d previously been escorted out suddenly appeared, blocking their way. Ella warned him to step aside, but instead of giving way, he pulled back his fist, ready to throw a punch.
Ford stepped past her in a heartbeat and grabbed the man’s wrist, bending his elbow inward. As the man yelled in pain, Ford shoved him clear.
Ella smiled. The training Ford had received in his previous career sure came in handy sometimes. Within seconds, Justine, Ford, Ella, Frieda, and Billy were outside, moving into the parking lot.
“What now?” Frieda asked.
“We wait,” Ford answered. “After the police regain control and remove everyone who’s still resisting, we go back inside and finish what we came here for.”
It took close to twenty minutes, but when they reentered the room, the mood had grown far more subdued. Judging solely by the size of the crowd that remained, one out of every three had either left or been arrested.
Ford, undaunted, took the podium again. “Now that both sides have been given the opportunity to speak, it’s time to settle the issues.” He turned to Emerson and Trina. “Keeping in mind the potential consequences, do you offer any suggestions or solutions to the question at hand? Will you talk to tribal representatives and work out a compromise?”
Looking at Garnenez, Emerson answered for both of them. “Our position hasn’t changed. We won’t give up a square foot of our land. We’ll fight for what’s rightfully ours.”
“Then this matter will go to the tribal council, and if necessary, the tribal courts,” Billy said. “But be aware that the interests of the whole tribe carry more weight than the needs, or the wishes, of one or two families.”
People stood, most of them shaking their heads sadly as they prepared to leave. Trina wiped at the tears that fell down her face. “You’re taking our heritage.”
Ella stood and walked toward the podium, her eyes on Trina and Emerson, then Billy. “If you won’t discuss a compromise with the tribe, how about discussing one now with me, in front of the public, so that everyone knows what was said, and what’s at stake?” she announced loudly, getting their attention. “I’ll start with a suggestion I think is worth considering. What if the tribe cuts back on their own acreage request and leaves the family with a zone surrounding their current structures, including space for the garden and a few fruit trees? Maybe the tribe could also agree to put up a wall, or tree belt to give the families some privacy and buffer the noise.”
Several in the departing crowd stopped, turning toward Ella and nodding or mumbling their agreement with the concept.
Trina glanced at Garnenez, the first sign of hope on her face. “That’s already more than I would expect from the tribe. What about it, Mister Director?”
“Such a thing might work, but I can’t approve any of that on my own. There are budget considerations to take into account, too. Let me talk to the others and study the site plans,” he said. “There are legal hoops the tribe must jump through, but what Officer Clah suggests just might be within reach. I’ll give you a call once we come up with a formal offer.”
As Billy left, Ford walked over to Ella. “I’m glad you spoke up. People are stubborn sometimes, and it was clear that no compromise suggested by the ‘enemy’ was going to be considered. You and your family are very respected on this side of the Rez—even though you’re a police officer, no offense. Our tribal attorneys could learn a thing or two from you.”
Before Ella could figure out if he’d been alluding to Kevin in his own oblique way, Ford turned to speak to Dr. Beard.
Hearing the shout of a reporter, Ella turned back to the business at hand. Hattery was trying to interview the people who were leaving, his cameraman tailing along right behind him. Other reporters were clustered around Billy and the Morgans, like bees around honey. From the looks of it, this was going to be a very long night.
TWENTY
FRIDAY
The following morning Ella and Blalock sat in Big Ed’s office. The chief looked tired and was a little short on patience.
“We still need answers, people. Last night’s chapter house meeting is all over the news—including three network outlets in Albuquerque. Norm Hattery’s article about Prickly Weed’s possible link to the attack on Adam Lonewolf is enough to give me an ulcer. I’ve had calls from practically everyone in the tribal council, even the tribal president. Every last one of them is demanding to know if the connection between the shootings and the land issue is real. What’s your theory, Shorty?”
“I just don’t see a link between the two, Chief,” Ella said. “Where’s the motive? If anything, Begaye and Garnenez would have been more believable targets, not Adam.”
“Have you reconsidered the possibility that they were aiming at the pilot, Pete Sanchez? Maybe we’ve misread this all along,” Big Ed said, looking from Ella to Blalock.
Ella spoke first. “No, the men wearing business suits were the targets. I have no doubt about that. My guess is that O’Riley and Perry weren’t sure who was who. Or maybe their employer ordered that the hit go down that way to confuse the issue. If so, it worked.”
Blalock cleared his throat. “I’ve personally gone through casino security video searching for O’Riley and Perry. They’re not there, so if they’ve got a link to Grady, it’s not an obvious one. And I looked at their service records. From what I read, the two could follow orders, but neither of those men is the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.”
“Someone hired those hoods,” Big Ed boomed out. “Any reports on what happened to O’Riley?”
“Every law enforcement agency within a thousand miles has been sent the most recent photo we have of him, but so far, nothing. He’s gone to ground,” Ella said. “We’re working on this, Chief, but some things can’t be rushed.”
Big Ed ran a hand through his hair. “How’s Adam doing?”
“I checked this morning, and he’s regained consciousness, though he seems disoriented and is having problems communicating. He seems to recognize his wife and parents, but that’s about the extent of his memory, at least so far. I’ve been told this is normal with brain injuries,” Ella said.
“I’ve heard of cases like this before. His memory might take weeks, months, or even years to completely return,” Blalock said. “Or it may never come back.”
Big Ed steepled his fingers and stared at his hands, lost in thought. “So we’re still on our own. There’s another, newer complication that could also impact your investigation—particularly if the Prickly Weed connection is real. IFT has asked to survey the proposed land for the project. They need to plan utility installations and draw up more detailed designs—including the site modifications intended to protect the family living there now, if such a deal is eventually worked out. IFT has agreed to work well away from the Morgan house, but the fact that they’re coming on the heels of what happened last night worries me. Opinions?”
“I agree that it’s a bad idea, Chief,” Ella said slowly. “From what I understand, no discussion between the two parties has taken place, which means Emerson Lee and the Morgans haven’t signed off on anything yet. This survey could create even more problems. The situation’s too tense to move forward right now, at least not until a formal agreement is agreed upon.”
“Do you think there’ll be violence associated with it?” Big Ed asked Ella.
Ella considered it before replying. “It’s a crapshoot. The family’s bound to take offense if IFT makes an appearance, especially at this crucial moment. It shows a lack of respect.”
“What would you recommend?” Big Ed asked.
“I would strongly advise IFT to do their planning completely off-site until tribal officials either act on a formal offer or get orders from the council to take over the property—assuming discussions fail to reach a compromise.”
“All right. I’ll pass that along to Begaye, Garnenez, and the others running that show.”
Ella was about to say more when her cell phone vibrated. She’d intended to ignore it, but Big Ed’s phone rang at the same time.
Big Ed picked up the receiver, and as he did, Ella glanced down at her own phone. Her call had come from the tribal government offices in town, only a few miles away. Before she could listen to the voice mail Big Ed looked up at her. “There’s some trouble at Begaye’s local office. Go
see what’s going on. You’ll have details on your own voice mail.”
Ella hurried down the hall with Blalock. “Anything from the Washington side of the investigation that might explain the money Adam was carrying?”
“No, and believe me, we’ve been looking under every rock.”
“Let me take care of this problem at the tribal branch offices first. Afterwards, you and I should go to Albuquerque and pay Marie Lonewolf another visit. Maybe we can talk to Adam and get some kind of response. With a little luck, we might be able to jog his memory and get a reaction.”
“If the doctors allow it.”
“It’s worth a try, don’t you think?” Ella asked.
He nodded. “I’ll be ready to roll whenever you are.”
Ella found Justine in the lab and, shortly thereafter, they left the station. As they headed down the highway she listened to her voice mail.
“What’s going on?” Justine asked.
“Vandalism again. We’ll get the details when we arrive.”
Silence settled between them as Justine drove. Knowing her partner as well as she did, Ella could sense something was bothering her. “What’s up, cuz?”
“Benny . . .”
“Mr. Romance! So what’s been happening?”
“I like him, Ella—a lot. He came over to my house last night after that chapter house mess and cooked a late supper for me. He did all the work and wouldn’t even let me lift a finger. The bad part was he can’t cook. He burned everything and the smoke alarm went off from the trout he was cooking. We also had to clean up the stove when his ‘special’ sauce . . . shall we say, erupted? But he was trying so hard!”
“It sounds like a disaster,” Ella said smiling, then, focusing back on business, opened her small notebook to check her notes.
“He makes me laugh, Ella, and that counts for a lot,” Justine said, glancing over at her. “And dessert was fabulous. That man looks incredible without his shirt. And Ella, he doesn’t wear underwear.”
“Whoa! Too much information!” Ella said, looking up suddenly. “You realize that next time I look at him, that’s what’s going to pop into my head?”
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