“Because tribal law states DNA tests are unacceptable as a tool to determine ancestry and membership.”
“If Santibanez was persuasive enough to convince the tribe to embrace a casino, he could do the same thing with the database.”
Nicky pulled the towel off her head and ran her fingers through her damp hair. “I know,” she said. Santibanez had boasted as much.
“You said Santibanez wanted to remove those with impure blood from Fire-Sky. I have the list. We can check.” She jumped to her feet and padded to a notebook on the breakfast bar. “I accessed the ancestral database with Sandra’s list of the missing, cross-checked tribe members who didn’t pick up their PCD check because they’d died. I also deleted people who skipped a year and showed up the next to sign out their money. That leaves twelve missing over the past two years.” She handed Nicky a numbered list.
Nicky read through it, recognizing a few of the surnames. Twelve people potentially murdered because of their genetics.
She put her bowl down and trailed Savannah to the laptop.
Fifteen minutes later, Nicky sat back, hands pressed to her thighs. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?” Ryan’s voice came from the back patio. He slid the screen door open and stepped inside.
Nicky swiveled and took in his blue jeans and faded red T-shirt. But the fierce scowl on his face captured her attention.
Savannah threw, “Chile mac and cheese on the stove,” over her shoulder, like it was a normal Friday night at her place. He didn’t respond. She finally turned her head to look him over. Her brow creased. “Why are you wearing mocs? And what’s with that big-ass knife?”
He’d sheathed a large bowie knife at his waist, leather thongs wrapped around his muscular thigh to hold it in place. His dark brown moccasins came up to his knees.
“There are two men watching your house, Savannah.”
“What?”
“The FBI. They’re probably watching me.” Nicky sighed. “Where are they?”
“In a black truck, out in the desert. They didn’t see me. I didn’t recognize either of them.” Ryan stalked into the kitchen and dished a bowl of food.
“They brought in guys from Arizona to process the murder scene. They want to keep it hush-hush for now,” Nicky said.
“Murder. You’d better explain.” Ryan pinned her with stony eyes.
She recapped the situation, Savannah adding details.
“I heard about the shooting yesterday and rumors of your suspension. I tried to call and text. You didn’t answer.”
“My cell phone’s been compromised. Franco and I met for coffee Sunday morning before our shift at the fiesta. When I came back from the ladies’ room, he had it in his hand. My assumption is he put a tag on it.” Her lips twisted. “I turned it off when I found out about the tag and haven’t used it since.” Swallowing the tightness in her throat, she said, “Before that, I needed time to process everything.”
“Franco? You mean Frank Martin?”
“Agent Franco Martinez. DEA. Yeah. He’s one of the two Feds undercover on the rez.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “What doesn’t make sense?”
The change of subject was almost a relief. Franco’s duplicity made her heartsick. She didn’t want to think about him any more right now.
“The list of the missing Fire-Sky tribal members. Peter Santibanez was compiling the DNA database so he could eliminate people from pueblo membership. Ones with low blood quantum. But every individual on Sandra Deering’s list has a high blood quantum. Most are close to full degree. Remember the numbers Sandra put beside the names? Sixty-six means two-thirds degree; greater than ninety, almost full blood.”
They gathered around the computer and the list and studied Nicky’s notes.
“Then, based on your theory, Peter Santibanez isn’t the killer. Isn’t that right, Frank?” Ryan called out the back door.
Nicky whipped around and stared stiffly at the large figure on the patio. “Jeez, Ryan, how did you know—?” she whispered.
“I’d be a pretty damn poor Apache if a couple of white guys could sneak up on me,” he said in a low voice. “Besides, I heard the gate latch open. Isn’t that right, Franco?” he said again.
“That’s right. Peter Santibanez didn’t do this.” Franco’s deep voice drifted through the screen. “He’s been thoroughly investigated, has alibis for the times of the murders. And he’s cooperating with us on the undercover operation and David Saunders. He’s pretty shaken up.” He paused. “Can we come in and talk?”
Nicky folded her arms over her chest. Glancing at her, Savannah gave an exasperated sigh and nodded.
“I thought I gave you strict orders not to speak about this case, Sergeant Matthews,” Agent Laughton said. He was right behind Franco and followed him into the room.
Nicky stared at the hard planes of his face and arched an eyebrow.
The addition of two more large men in the room seemed to shrink the space. Ryan stepped forward, ever the protector, aggression in every line of his body, and the testosterone-fueled tension in the air made Nicky want to roll her eyes.
Savannah thrust him out of her way and marched up to Agent Laughton.
“Seriously? You’re berating her when you jack-holes hid the fact that a serial killer was running loose on the rez?” She punctuated her words with pokes of her finger to his chest. Laughton blinked with each stab and stared down at the woman in front of him. Savannah scowled and held out her hand. “Ryan, ‘i’u hi’iska,” she demanded in Keres.
Nicky barked out a laugh as Ryan gently pulled Savannah back to his chest. “No, babe. No knives for you.”
Laughton’s eyes opened wide. Hands raised, he stepped back.
“She’s right, Donny,” Franco said. “We both originally objected to the operation’s secrecy. And how far would we be on this case without Sergeant Matthews’s help?”
He flashed Nicky a look, his smile more like a grimace. She turned her shoulder and her gaze to Savannah instead of meeting his eyes.
Savannah’s face softened at Franco’s statement. She extricated herself from Ryan’s arms. “You’d better take a seat and explain. Frank, do you want something to eat?”
He nodded and his smile relaxed. “Thanks. I haven’t really eaten since yesterday’s breakfast and you are the best cook—”
Savannah pinched his arm. “Stop sucking up. It won’t help.”
Agent Laughton raised his eyebrows at the mention of food.
“Not you,” Savannah snapped. “You can eat—”
“Savannah!” Lip quivering, Ryan shook his head.
She humphed and went in the kitchen, warmed two bowls of pasta in the microwave, and filled glasses with cold sweet tea as they settled on sofa and chairs.
The tension abated somewhat as the two agents ate, but Nicky itched with impatience at the delay. It was a relief when Agent Laughton put down his empty bowl.
“DEA Agent Martinez was one of the original men, two years ago, who found Maryellen K’aishuni and Vernon Cheromiah’s bodies. He’s been working the case ever since, but there were no good leads until the Sandra Deering murder.”
“I was stationed in the southern Arizona sector,” Franco said. “We received an anonymous tip drugs were being stored in a series of mines and caves in the Chiricahua Wilderness. The Coahuilan drug cartel operated in that area. We searched the cavern, but all we found were two buried bodies and … and a killing room, like the one last night.” He flicked another glance at Nicky.
“That’s only one link between the Chiricahua deaths and the murder tonight, but it’s recent. So, besides their tribal affiliation, what else do these murders—two years apart and in different states—have in common?” Nicky asked. Would they admit the truth?
When Franco and Laughton exchanged looks and didn’t answer immediately, Nicky snapped impatiently, “Why are you here on the reservation?”
“David
Saunders called the FBI about Deering’s autopsy. At first he was afraid he was being set up by the Fire-Sky police, but we think whoever murdered Sandra Deering is connected to the Chiricahua deaths,” Laughton replied. “We believe Sandra was killed because she found out something. What that was, we don’t know yet.”
Franco picked up where Laughton left off. “At about the same time, we intercepted chatter from Mexico and Mariano Salas, the Coahuilan cartel leader, to Albuquerque. One message contained the word corazón. Heart. Another link.”
“The cartel recently sent human assets into Albuquerque,” Laughton added. “This convergence of clues triggered the undercover operation.”
“Explain how Maryellen and Vernon are connected to Sandra and Saunders,” Nicky demanded.
Franco’s blue eyes shadowed. “Hearts, Nicky. It all comes back to hearts,” he replied, his voice somber. “The two men we found in the Chiricahua killing room had their hearts ripped out and placed on an altar, like David Saunders. They were mutilated, also like Saunders. Both Maryellen and Vernon had been held alive for weeks, there in the caves. It was a perfect hiding spot. But a few hours before we searched, their hearts were surgically removed while they were still alive.”
“Still alive?” whispered Savannah.
“As far as we know,” Franco said.
Nicky knew about the removal of Maryellen’s heart. Howard had told her. But hearing it confirmed by Franco left her shaken. And to have the hearts taken while they were alive … She pressed a hand against her chest and struggled to divorce herself from her emotions. She needed her mind clear. Needed to be a cop right now, because one thing Franco said really stood out: there was a big difference between “ripped out” and “surgically removed.”
Franco leaned forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees. “The ground was swept in both caves—tonight and in the Chiricahua. Just like in the sniper’s nest. Those cigarette butts we found? The DNA matched David Saunders and five other unknowns. We think they may be from Sandra’s list of the missing. Nicky,” he pressed, “David Saunders’s murder was a taunt. Just like the anonymous phone call drawing us to the Chiricahua caves two years ago.”
“Who were the other men, the ones in the killing room in the Chiricahua?” The question came from Ryan.
Franco answered. “They were identified as a couple of Mexican nationals, probably hired to help abduct and guard the captives. The killer … disposed of them once he took what he wanted. No witnesses. We think that’s why he went after Saunders. Because he’d discovered Sandra Deering’s heart was missing.
“We believed whoever killed Sandra knew David Saunders received any and all train-pedestrian fatalities from Fire-Sky,” Franco said. “In the past, he’d almost lost his job over the harvest and removal of a heart from a Native American. It was a good bet he’d keep quiet. I think his paranoia got the best of him. He wasn’t supposed to report the missing heart. But he did. And now he’s dead.”
A chill swept over her. That meant whoever was involved in the murders was familiar with both Fire-Sky and Albuquerque OMI procedures.
“He? You think only one man is involved?” Nicky let the skepticism show plainly on her face.
Laughton shifted, obviously uncomfortable with the question. “The profilers call it a Jekyll-and-Hyde personality. One thing’s for sure, though. If these missing tribe members on Deering’s list have been murdered, this guy is targeting Fire-Sky tribal members. He seems to have an animosity—”
“Animosity, Agent Laughton? Animosity? No. He has a deep and abiding hatred for my culture and people.” Savannah sat up straight, her mouth a taut line. “The heart is the seat of our soul. To take it away from our bodies is to exile us. We become los perdidos. Lost ones. It’s worse than death, for we wander and cannot ever join our family, our ancestors, our future. Can’t protect or help the living. Your murderer knows this. He knows the rituals. He must be a member of Fire-Sky.”
Ryan reached for Savannah’s hand, his expression at once proud and desolate as he looked at her. Nicky blinked back tears. Now she understood Ryan’s fears about Savannah and his future. Savannah was Fire-Sky. Ryan was not.
There was a tense silence.
Laughton sighed. “We believe that now.”
Nicky cleared away her emotions. There were still too many unanswered questions. She addressed Laughton. “Howard Kie and Sandra thought the war chiefs were involved. They would know the secret rituals.”
“No. Not so secret,” Ryan said. “All young Tsiba’ashi D’yini men are trained and brought partially into the circle of war chiefs. They learn things, and they talk. Even I know something about the Enemy’s Heart Ceremony.”
“Great. That just expanded our pool of suspects,” Laughton said, jaw tight.
Nicky pushed forward with her loose threads. “You had Saunders alter Sandra Deering’s autopsy report. Her toxicology report showed marijuana, heroin, alcohol. Was it fake, too?”
“Yes.” Franco held her gaze. “We only found traces of ketamine in her tissues and there was a needle mark on her thigh. It’s another link to Maryellen and Vernon. They were injected with ketamine, too. It would have immobilized them for the taking of their hearts.”
“Witched,” Savannah whispered.
Hair prickled on Nicky’s neck. All of the victims had been witched, just like Juanita Benami had told her.
“Ketamine. That tranquilizer is used at the pueblo’s veterinary clinic, the animal shelter, and at Conservation. It wouldn’t be hard to steal,” Ryan murmured.
“No. It’s also very easy to get in Mexico. And the Coahuilan cartel was experimenting with ketamine-methamphetamine mixtures two years ago. That was another connection,” Franco said. His mouth thinned. “But we still don’t fully understand how the cartel is connected to the taking of the hearts, or Fire-Sky.”
Yeah, Nicky thought. Neither did she. It seemed for every piece of the puzzle she placed, another ten were thrown on the table.
“Did Sandra have other sources for her story? Or a boyfriend?” Franco asked Nicky.
She snorted. “You do realize I only found out she was murdered four days ago.” He gazed at her steadily. She sighed. “Not that I know of. It looks like she did most of her project’s legwork on her own. And no one mentioned a guy in her life. Why?”
“When she left her dorm the night she disappeared, she was dressed up. Heels, skirt, makeup.”
“You took the UNM dorm videos, too? No wonder they wouldn’t give me access.” Nicky glared, her gaze swinging between the two agents.
Both Franco and Laughton had the grace to drop their eyes.
“Her murder would have generated too much publicity. The Coahuilan cartel case is huge. We couldn’t let them think we were on to them. The FBI thought, by virtue of us being undercover on the reservation, we could ask around and get information that people might be reluctant to share with authorities. But that really hasn’t worked,” Laughton admitted.
“You’re outsiders. It takes years for our people to trust.” Savannah’s voice was hard.
“That’s why we decided to speak to you now,” Laughton said.
“Really? Not because your case is collapsing around your heads and you’re just about to be outed?” Nicky asked.
“Yeah, well, that might have something to do with it, along with Franco here hammering on me for the last week to bring you in on the operation,” Laughton said.
Nicky shot Franco a glance, but looked away when she realized he was staring at her.
“We could use your help interviewing Dinah K’aishuni, Maryellen’s mother. At the time, brass didn’t think the K’aishunis told the whole truth about their daughter’s disappearance. They see Dinah K’aishuni as a weak link. They think she’s hiding something, or held something back.” Agent Laughton gave a rueful laugh. “Right now anything she has might help. We’re pretty desperate.”
That was a nice touch. Laughton was good at his job, but she didn’t believe him for a
minute. He was right about the K’aishunis, though. They’d held something back.
“It was on my list of things to do, but they live in Omaha now,” Nicky said. “Out of respect, I refuse to speak to her over the phone.”
“That won’t be necessary. The K’aishunis have been on the pueblo for the past week visiting relatives,” Laughton said. “They fly out tomorrow. We need to go tonight.”
Nicky’s breath caught in her chest. She exchanged a sharp glance with Savannah, who bit her lip and slid her eyes away.
So much for a good night’s sleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Nicky fumed in the front passenger seat of Savannah’s car, professional in black slacks and a bright blue top. Her service weapon lay hidden at her back, holstered in her waistband. Ryan was crammed in behind her, long legs stretched across the length of the seat. He refused to leave Nicky and Savannah alone, even though Laughton had assured him they were in no danger.
Franco, though, hadn’t added his assurances, only pressed his lips together grimly as the agents climbed into a large black pickup.
“The K’aishunis were here on the reservation and you hid it from me,” Nicky said flatly. She sent Savannah a narrow-eyed glance.
“They came for the fiesta. I almost told you at the blessing, but I felt like I was betraying Dinah.” Savannah opened and closed her hands on the wheel of the car as she drove. “The K’aishunis kept the information hidden for so long and this will dredge up so much pain. I couldn’t see how another interview would help.”
“But she agreed to talk to me when you called her,” Nicky said.
“Yes.”
Savannah slowed to negotiate a turn, her headlights cutting through the darkness. The car slipped off the paved road onto a wide gravel street leading to the jumble of adobe buildings—some hundreds of years old—that constituted Chirio’ce. The village stood on the flattened top of a broad hill, low-profile dwellings dotting the edge. With no yards or fences, trucks and cars were parked close to front doors and horno ovens. The few feeble lights that shone from cracks in curtained windows hinted at occupation, but the streets were deserted. The village was known to be haunted. No one went outside at night.
Hearts of the Missing Page 24