Magpie Speaks

by R. Allen Chappell

Billy Red Clay nudged Charlie with his elbow and grinned toward Mayfield, who was pressing a forefinger to one temple. The agent had only met the Under Sheriff one other time and hoped he had been mistaken in his first impression of the man. He could see now he hadn’t been far off.

  “Gentlemen, we’ve called everyone together today to explore the collective thoughts of the agencies involved in the investigation of the recent spate of homicides here in the Four Corners.” Eldon Mayfield took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead for a moment, as though to ward off an approaching headache. He glanced up at the ceiling briefly, gathered his thoughts, then turned to junior agent Smith, now seated on his right.

  “The FBI would like to start off with a report compiled by Agent Fred Smith of our Albuquerque office. Fred’s on loan to us for a few days due to his expertise in crime scene analysis.” The senior agent gestured to Smith that the floor was his.

  Fred smiled around the room while taking out a small pair of spectacles. “I would first like to mention how enjoyable it’s been working with the various agencies here in the Four Corners.” Fred nodded at Billy Red Clay and Charlie Yazzie, but neglected to include Dudd Schott in the smile. He opened a portfolio and thumbed through several sheets. “You will find a preliminary packet in front of you… but there have been a few late developments you might want to take special note of as well. First, in the case of Anita Ponyboy, the preliminary autopsy results revealed the victim died after a brutal beating, culminating in a single knife wound to the upper chest; the blade pierced the heart, and this proved to be the actual cause of death.”

  Here Smith paused and again looked around the room. “The handouts on the autopsy––those in the medical examiner’s report in the blue folder––are included in the material we’ve provided. There are photos of the body, diagrams of the crime scene, and so on.” Fred shuffled his papers and extracted one, dated only hours before. “As far as a list of suspects, we do have a few persons of interest, but at this point in time, none are being given serious consideration, and that includes the victim’s husband, Harley Ponyboy, whose presence elsewhere at the time of death has now been verified.”

  An audible sigh of relief escaped Charlie Yazzie at this, and Billy Red Clay half-turned and winked in his direction.

  “In regard to the second set of homicides involving the two brothers from Gobernador––I would draw your attention to the separate green portfolio in your packet. There again you’ll find preliminary autopsy reports on these victims as well. I would point up the fact that the modus operandi in the first incident in no way matches that of the multiple homicide. Whether or not there’s any actual correlation between these two crimes still remains uncertain… at least as of this morning. Additional lab reports are underway, and we expect more detailed results in a matter of days.” Here Fred paused to catch his breath and make sure everyone was still with him. Dudd Schott’s chin was sinking toward his chest and only the sudden silence caused him to come fully awake. He spluttered and coughed and blinked at the agent like a surprised owl.

  “Officer Schott, did you have a question?” Mayfield’s voice carried a note of exasperation, and his stern expression made it clear he was not pleased. When Dudd didn’t answer, the FBI man shook his head, briefly leafed through his own copy of the report, then stood, and with a nod at Agent Smith took up where he had left off. “Both of the second set of victims were shot through the windshield of their truck, in the head, with a handgun.” Here the agent carefully consulted his notes. “…And from a distance estimated at more than fifty feet.” The senior agent glanced once again at the notebook before going on. “One brother was shot in the forehead, directly between the eyes… and the other in the left temple, apparently hit as he turned to exit the vehicle. The shots came within a second or so of each other and were fired by a very competent shooter.”

  A murmur of surprise at such marksmanship went around the table. The FBI man waited for quiet, wrinkled his brow, and then recalled a fact not included in the handouts. “We have recently learned that the rounds were probably from a .32 Colt automatic, perhaps an older model, judging from ejector marks on the casings. It’s a handgun no longer manufactured and may be hard to trace.” The agent went on to list possible suspects in this double slaying as well. “Three people were on the list, but only one was considered a serious suspect––a Ganado man, late of the Gobernador Wash area––his name was Edward Bitsinnii.” Then the agent squinted an eye at the assemblage. “We now have reason to believe there may have been an additional and as yet unidentified subject involved in this incident, possibly in collusion with Edward Bitsinnii. Our people have definitely found evidence of such a person at the scene.”

  The information was talked back and forth around the table for nearly twenty minutes before the group was asked if they had anything more to add.

  That’s when Billy Red Clay held up his hand. “Tribal police had one of their best trackers on the scene late yesterday afternoon.” he again winked from the corner of his eye at Charlie. “While the area was disturbed by previous foot traffic, he reportedly found a woman’s boot print…at least that was what it looked like to him.”

  Eldon Mayfield instantly took note of this, frowned, and asked, “Did your tracker say exactly where he found that print?”

  “Yes, he did… he said it was about fifty feet in front of the victims stock truck.” Billy tried not to smile when he said this, as he knew Eldon Mayfield himself had been the one to search that area around the truck.

  ~~~~~~

  Out in the parking lot the two Navajo paused at Billy Red Clay’s unit, where Billy fiddled with the driver’s side mirror while he waited for the State Police Captain to pass. The Captain lifted a finger at the pair as he walked by but didn’t speak.

  When the State Patrol Officer was out of earshot the Navajo policeman looked after him for a moment. “Just before I left the office this morning, I got a call from Gallup Police. You’ll remember you wanted me to check up on Alice Harney for you––see if we could get some leads on her current whereabouts?” Billy focused on a dead insect stuck to the mirror, bent over and shook his head at the size of the bug, then flicked it off the glass. “Well anyway, it turns out Alice ran off on her husband a few days back––a white guy named Frank Harney. Apparently, Gallup police had been called out to their place on several previous occasions… seems Alice’s husband was inclined to abuse her.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Well, then it was good Alice left him… just seems a shame she didn’t do it sooner. You don’t think he’ll follow her up here do you?”

  “Not now I don’t. When Alice left him… she left him shot between the eyes. He won’t be beating up on anymore women.” Billy Red Clay looked toward the Federal Building. “Maybe I should have mentioned this inside.” He grinned at Charlie. “Maybe later I’ll throw Mayfield a bone.”

  ~~~~~~

  As Charlie turned off on his little graveled lane he could already see Harley on top of the horse shed, reaching for a sheet of corrugated roofing being handed up by Thomas Begay, who was balanced precariously atop an old stepladder. At the sound of Charlie’s truck, both men turned to look, causing Thomas to nearly lose his grip and make a grab at the edge of the roof with his free hand. Harley rescued the piece of tin, laid it aside, and then followed Thomas down the ladder.

  The two had made remarkable progress since Charlie left them that morning, despite the weather. Charlie was clearly pleased.

  Thomas, now safe on the ground, brushed the frost off the front of his shirt and eyed Charlie with a wry smile. The investigator had dressed for the meeting that morning in a starched white shirt, new Levis, and freshly polished boots. His gold-plated badge hung on the flap at his belt, and Thomas was only disappointed he hadn’t worn his revolver. “You should have worn your gun,” he said. “People have more respect for someone they think might shoot ’em.”

  Harley came up beside the two and looked Charlie up and down. “Pretty fancy
duds… maybe you shoulda wore a bolo tie or something, though.”

  Charlie laughed. “I’m glad I didn’t––Dudd Schott wore one the size of a chew can. It would have been hard to beat.”

  Thomas grinned. “So… how’d the meeting go? Anything new?”

  “Not much that we didn’t already know… I’m thinking the FBI is up against the wall on this one. They’re finally asking tribal for help… about time too.” The investigator put a hand on Harley’s shoulder. “Looks like you’re off the hook. The FBI put a timeline together for Anita’s death, and thanks to information from Billy Red Clay, you’ve been conclusively ruled out.”

  Harley and Thomas nodded at one another and grinned. This was a load off everyone’s mind, and the three headed to the house for coffee and a late breakfast.

  When Sue heard the good news, she flew into the kitchen and went all out, with a fresh batch of fry-bread laid out like Navajo tacos, topped with sunny-side eggs covered with red chili sauce and with a side of bacon. She knew this was Harley’s favorite and hoped it might keep him cheered up and help him forget Anita, even if it was only for just a little while.

  As the three men gathered round the table with steaming mugs of coffee, Joseph Wiley wriggled around in his high chair to watch his mother at the stove. The boy didn’t talk much as yet and it was beginning to worry Charlie. He didn’t say anything about it, fearing someone might again bring up the curse. He knew the thought was never far from some people’s minds, and he was sick to death of hearing such nonsense. “After breakfast I have to run back into the office, but when I get home, I’ll change clothes and help you boys with that shed.”

  Thomas laughed. “Much as I would like to see you up there with a hammer in your hand, you’re too late. We pretty much have things wrapped up… as soon as Harley tacks down that last piece of roofing we’ll put the siding back on, and we’re through.”

  Harley spoke around a big bite of fry-bread, “Tomorrow, I’ll touch up the paint, and then maybe them two horses will think better of it.”

  Sue came to stand by the table and refill everyone’s cup, but when she got to Thomas Begay, she frowned. “How’s Lucy doing… any more word about Alice?” She knew he didn’t like to talk about his ex-wife, but she needed to ease her mind where Lucy was concerned.

  Thomas looked down at his plate, chewed his food, and thought about it. “We don’t know any more than we did. She’s gone again and no one knows where. Lucy thinks she’s capable of anything at this point. She thinks Alice is right on the edge of some sort of breakdown… physically and mentally. There’s really no telling what she might do once she’s in that state of mind.”

  Charlie cleared his throat, looked uncomfortable, and tried not to look directly at Thomas when he announced, “I was going to tell you all this later but it’ll be all over the news soon anyway, so I may as well let you know right now.” He took a deep breath, “There’s an all-points bulletin out for Alice. Charges have been filed out of Gallup in the death of her husband. I expect we’ll hear something soon.”

  After Thomas recovered from this latest development, he looked down at his coffee cup and said in a subdued voice, “She’s a lot smarter than people think––especially when she’s in one of her… uh, moods. She thinks like a white person. I never could figure her out.”

  Harley’s eyes grew large and filled with tears. “You don’t reckon Alice killed Anita, too, do you? I know I was talking her down pretty bad when I was drinking. I hope Alice didn’t think she had to get back at her for my sake.”

  Thomas had not previously even considered this and only now, in light of this new information, did he turn his suspicions in that direction. His ex-wife’s mercurial mental state now seemed grounds for all manner of conjecture.

  Charlie rose from the table and gave Sue a peck on the cheek, then said, “I have to run back in to the office for a while before meeting Professor Custer for a late lunch.” He turned back to the men. “If you boys are back in town by that time drop by the cafe… lunch is on me.” He stopped at the door and turned. “Does anyone have a message for George in case you don’t make it for lunch?”

  Harley didn’t hesitate, “You can tell him for me that I’m up for that job he offered... ask him if I have to sign one of those contracts like Thomas did.” Harley was afraid the lack of a contract might somehow indicate a lessor position.

  Outside, Charlie immediately noticed his gelding had its head halfway inside the framed-up shed. He thought this a good sign, and the day brightened as he looked out across the pasture and beyond to the river. Freeze-up had already come to the feeder streams in the high-country, and the San Juan’s slowing current allowed a silver-laced border at the edges of the river. As he walked to his truck, Charlie noticed for the first time how shriveled Sue’s garden had become, dusted with frost, and sparkling in the morning sun. Only a few pumpkins still peeked from the corn stalks to offer any color. A smoky haze drifted in from his neighbor’s burning ditches. Too soon, the Legal Services Investigator thought, but it put a last taste of fall in the air and satisfied his mind that winter was nearly upon them.

  It gave Charlie a good feeling inside to know the little dugout behind the house was full of winter squash, dried beans, and jars of home-canned fruit and vegetables. Sue had outdone herself this fall. There had been a time when his people’s lives might depend on such winter stores, and even now it was a comfort to know they were on hand and ready… should times get hard. It was an uncertain world they lived in, even here on the reservation, where nothing seemed to change. He thought maybe next week he would go to the sale and pick up a few lambs to give Joseph Wiley––a start in the livestock business and just that added little security.

  ~~~~~~

  George Custer didn’t look too happy when Charlie finally spotted him at a back table. The Diné Bikeyah Cafe was packed. The loud talk and clinking utensils filled the place with the usual noonday clatter. As he edged through the crowded tables, he noticed Billy Red Clay sitting with his back to him; another tribal police officer sat directly across, waving his hands and obviously in the middle of a story.

  Professor Custer was indeed not happy. He had been there twenty minutes already, and still couldn’t seem to attract the attention of either of the two young Navajo girls waiting table. It was not that they were ignoring him as such, but rather that there were many more desirable prospects along the front counter that needed tending to. Young oil field workers, white and Indian, and the personnel from the nearby tribal offices caught their attention. They would get to the old man in the back when they could.

  Professor Custer was not used to being ignored but was well tutored in the ways of these new-age teenagers––his university classes had once been filled with them––but that didn’t make it right.

  When Charlie seated himself, he was quickly made aware of the situation by the irate professor, and in no uncertain terms either. “Those girls are deliberately ignoring me… rude, that’s what it is.” George was generally quite easy going, but now his “Irish” was up, and he scowled across the room at the young waitresses.

  Charlie smiled and put one hand up high and left it there. It was only a moment before one of the girls glided up, her order pad already out and pencil poised. Charlie was well known and admired by the female help at the Diné Bikeyah. They thought it a shame he was married.

  “What can we get you gentlemen? Sorry I didn’t notice you back here.” This was not the truth, of course, and the professor was about to say as much when the girl smiled in a most beguiling manner. “The specials are the cheeseburger deluxe… that comes with fries––that’s what makes it a ‘Deluxe.’ And today only…” her voice took on a triumphant note, “the chicken fried steak… hand breaded, and served with mashed potatoes… your choice of brown or cream gravy.” The girl was obviously proud of the day’s selection––seldom were both favorites featured on the same day. She put pencil to pad in anticipation––about ninety percent of her or
ders, so far, had been for one or the other of the two specials. She already had Charlie figured for the cheeseburger, and nearly wrote it down, before he said, “I’m thinking I’ll have a BLT… heavy on the mayo and no pickles in sight, please.” He smiled when he said this but the girl could see he was deadly serious. Charlie thought this might be the only cafe on the planet that served dill pickle slices on a BLT. Charlie didn’t like pickles in any form; his grandfather had not liked pickles, so neither did he.

  Dr. Custer frowned, wrinkling his brow as he pretended to peruse the menu in more detail, mostly just to pay the girl back for being tardy. In the end he ordered the chicken fried steak, with cream gravy. After the girl left, he shook his head. “Why is it Indians only order one of three things: Chicken Fried Steak, Cheeseburger Deluxe, or a Navajo Taco? Doesn’t seem to matter if it’s breakfast, lunch or dinner… they’re all fair game any time of the day or night. You, Charlie, of course, being the exception that defies the rule.”

  Charlie grinned and shrugged, “Damned if I know, Doc. I guess they just like ’em.” Before he could say anything further in this regard, Harley and Thomas came trooping back to the table with the waitress in tow. After shaking hands with the professor, each man ordered a Cheeseburger Deluxe. George Custer gave Charlie a look.

  Harley was excited about the job and lost no time inquiring about what sort of contract might be involved. George assured his old friend there would be a contract to sign… and he would have the added title of “Assistant Excavation Supervisor.” Harley shot Thomas a smug glance.

  Charlie raised his eyebrows at the other two Navajo. “So I’m assuming the horse shed is finished.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Your horse goes in. But Sue’s mare still won’t have anything to do with it. Maybe she’ll be okay when she sees it doesn’t fall in on the gelding… You know how mares are.”

  Harley toyed with his coffee and grew more serious when he inquired of Charlie if he’d heard any more about Anita’s death. There was a catch in his voice, and he had a hard time forming the next words. “Billy Red Clay said it would be a few more days until they release the body.”