Turquoise Girl Page 3

Before Ella could move away, Carolyn spoke again. “Neskahi around?”

  Ella nodded. “He’s in one of the other rooms. We needed a full team on this one.”

  “Get him.”

  Ella sighed. Joe had made an unthinking remark about Carolyn’s weight about two years ago and since that time, Carolyn had made it her mission to see that he continued to pay the price. He was now her body-mover of choice. Knowing the futility of arguing with her about this, Ella nodded. “I’ll go get him.”

  As Ella passed by the living room, Justine glanced up from where she was crouched gathering fibers and hair. “I found the victim’s purse on the floor in the kitchenette,” she told Ella. “All her money is gone—including any change she might have had. I sent Joe to check and see if the diner had also had a break-in, but Joe found no signs of forced entry.”

  “This may have started as a burglary or home invasion before it escalated to murder. But how either of those fit in with the biblical quote is beyond me at the moment,” Ella said.

  “I still haven’t found any paper that matches the type used for the note, nor have I seen a pen lying around anywhere. There’s a pencil on the kitchen counter, but that’s it, so far.”

  Ella looked around. “Where’s Joe?”

  Justine gestured toward the door. “Outside, checking the victim’s car, the trash, and the grounds for evidence.”

  Ella stepped outside and, seeing her, Sergeant Neskahi nodded glumly and went inside. No explanation had been necessary.

  Ella’s phone rang just then. One look at the caller ID told her it was Agent Blalock. Ella greeted the Bureau man, then gave him a thumbnail sketch of their initial findings.

  “As soon as I get back, in about five hours give or take, I’ll access databases and see if there’s a similar MO on file somewhere. In the meantime, if you get any leads, call me. I’ll be out of range at times, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “See you in a few hours then.”

  Ella helped her team collect evidence a while longer, then turned things over to Justine. Aware of how quickly news traveled on the reservation, it was imperative she go see Lena Clani and tell her about her daughter’s murder before anyone else did. On the way, for purely practical reasons, she’d stop and break the news to her mom. Her mother’s presence at Lena’s home would help while Ella questioned Lena.

  These days Rose was staying at Herman’s house, ten minutes east of Shiprock. After telling Justine how to get hold of her, Ella set out, glad that the short drive would give her time to think.

  The facts were a chaotic blend of information points that had yet to make sense. But it was her job to find the pattern to restore order and harmony.

  There’d been a time when she would have seen the case as just a matter of doing her job—of giving the taxpayers their money’s worth. But her work here on the reservation was far more than that. She genuinely loved the land between the sacred mountains and wanted to protect it. This was her daughter’s legacy.

  Ella arrived at Herman’s, or Bizaadii’s as her mother had nicknamed him. It meant “the gabby one.” It had been her mother’s way of teasing, since Herman was a man of few words.

  Herman’s house, down in the former floodplain of the river, had been more carefully planned and constructed than many Navajo homes. It was set on higher ground in the middle of two fenced-in acres of fine sediment and sand. In the moonlight, Ella could see a dozen sheep grazing peacefully in one of the far corners where the vegetation was tallest.

  When Herman left, his nephew Philip was going to move in. Philip Cloud was engaged to a young traditionalist woman who was already a talented weaver. The sheep would supply most of the wool needed.

  Ella was just getting out of the tribal unit when she noticed her mother and Two, her shaggy old dog, returning from a walk down by the river. Sometimes when Rose couldn’t sleep, she’d go out and enjoy the evening air, wandering far from the house. It was a practice Ella had never liked, and that was especially so in this more populated area closer to town. It just wasn’t safe, not with active gangs and crime on the rise on the Rez.

  Rose, who’d obviously seen her headlights, came over immediately. “I just finished my evening walk. I know you don’t like my wandering around like this, but I’m safe,” she added, reaching down to pet her faithful companion.

  Ella started to argue then shook her head. That would wait for another time. Right now there was a more pressing matter. Ella searched her mind for the best way to begin but there didn’t seem to be any right words.

  “Something’s happened, daughter,” Rose said quickly. “I can see it on your face. Is it your daughter, or your brother, or his family?”

  “No, they’re all safe,” Ella reassured her quickly. “But I need your help passing along some really bad news to a friend.”

  Hearing an owl’s mournful cry somewhere nearby, Rose shuddered. “Let’s go inside the house. Owls are spies for evil spirits. We can sit in the kitchen and have some tea while we talk.”

  Tea, her mother’s special blend, was a mellow tasting mixture of orange and spices that soothed and warmed at the same time. On a night like this one, it was exactly what they both needed.

  Herman’s home was sparsely decorated. Only one couch and a chair provided seating in the living area and both had been placed near the wood-burning stove. There was a shelf full of books, a floor lamp, and that was pretty much it. Ella followed her mother into the small kitchen, glancing around for Herman.

  While Rose poured water into the tea kettle, Ella paused, wondering how to begin.

  “My husband’s asleep, so speak softly,” Rose said, quietly moving about the kitchen, reaching for the tea, cups, and napkins. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

  Ella knew that her mother preferred to be given bad news while she was busy. It was her way of coping, of relying on the comfort of familiar routines to offset the disharmony that bad news brought.

  “The daughter of your best friend is dead,” she said, avoiding the use of names in front of her traditionalist mother. Though Ella’s message had been cryptic, no further explanation had been needed. Lena and Rose were as close as sisters. They’d shared a lifetime of friendship, of births and deaths, and everything in between.

  Rose paused for a second as she poured the tea but then continued. “That one has been dead to her mother for a long time,” she answered in a sorrowful voice. “Her drinking, all the men…” Rose shook her head. “She broke her mother’s heart.”

  “What can you tell me about her?” Ella took an offered cup of tea.

  “She was married at least three times, no, four, I think, and she pretty much abandoned her only child. She had a very serious alcohol problem for most of her life, then a year ago, it almost killed her. She was ordered by the courts to go into a rehab program and, after that, it looked like she was finally changing her life around. She went back to school, received some business training, then got a job at the Morning Stop Café working behind the counter and keeping the books. She wanted to use that employment experience to lead to a better job soon, maybe at one of the Farmington restaurants.”

  “How do you know all this?” Ella asked. “I thought you said her mother had given up on her?”

  “She did. We never spoke about her. It was Boots who’d often tell me about her mother, mostly in bits and pieces. Boots never stopped loving her mother, though she’s never really understood the woman. Being raised by her grandmother, Boots has had an orderly life—walking in beauty. But her mother…” Rose sighed and shrugged. “So tell me. What happened to cause her death? Since you’re here, I’m assuming there’s a crime involved and it wasn’t just a car accident?”

  Ella nodded. “She was murdered at her home, the apartment behind the café.”

  Rose sat down across from her, and they both drank their tea in silence for a while. “Was it one of her men friends? She saw many, if the gossip can be believed.” Rose looked into Ella
’s eyes, then added, “But there’s a lot more you’re not saying, isn’t there?”

  Ella was very good at keeping a poker face. It was part of being in law enforcement. But she’d never been able to put anything over on Rose. Ella gave her a sanitized version of what they’d discovered, leaving out the gory parts and specifics.

  Rose paled, then with an unsteady hand took a sip of her tea. “You made the right decision coming to tell me first. My friend is up in years, daughter, and she has problems with her heart. It wouldn’t be good to give her this kind of news while she’s alone. Boots isn’t at home, she’s sitting with your daughter, so I’ll go with you. Just give me a minute to leave a note for my husband in case he wakes up.”

  As Rose went into the next room, Ella set down her empty cup. Learning that Kevin was working late again annoyed her, but the only thing she could do was hope he wouldn’t make a habit of it while Dawn was there.

  “I’ll follow you in my truck,” Rose said, hurrying to the front door with her. “That way I’ll have a ride back and can stay for as long as I need to.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Boots will have to be told, too,” she sighed. “But maybe we should take things one step at a time.”

  “You’ll have your hands full tonight, Mom. I’ll send one of my officers to tell Boots.”

  It was late by the time they were seated in Lena Clani’s living room, Rose by her friend’s side. As she broke the news, Ella watched Lena’s face register shock, then sorrow, and finally, rage.

  “Who did this to my daughter?” she asked, her voice strangled. “He’s in jail, right?”

  “No, not yet. We’ve barely had time to process the scene,” Ella said gently. “But we’re not going to let up until we track the person down.

  “Was your daughter seeing anyone special, maybe someone with strong religious ties?”

  “Not that I know of. But what is it you’re implying? Was my daughter murdered by some religious nut? Is that it?” She looked at Ella as if struggling to understand the incomprehensible. “Why would anyone like that pass judgement on my daughter now? She was finally getting her life back!”

  Lena wiped the tears from her face impatiently, then ran a hand through her hair. Then, as if with great force of will, she took a deep unsteady breath and, to Ella’s surprise, met her gaze. Navajos seldom looked directly at anyone. It was considered a sign of disrespect. But all she could see in Lena’s eyes now was anger and, beyond that, the emptiness that came from utter and complete devastation.

  “I want justice for my daughter. I respect what you do for the tribe, so I’ll give you a few days to find the man who did this. But I won’t wait long, and if you fail, there are others who still respect the old ways and will help me.”

  Ella didn’t have to ask what she meant. Lena was talking about the Fierce Ones, a vigilante group who believed Anglo law enforcement had no place on Navajo land. The Fierce Ones often got in the way of legitimate law enforcement efforts, and although their brutal methods often achieved results, their tactics of intimidation were the antithesis of everything Ella stood for.

  “Your family is very much part of my own. I’ll find whoever did this to your daughter. But I don’t react well to threats,” Ella said.

  “Don’t ask me to turn the other cheek. That’s not our way,” Lena answered.

  Lena’s voice was quiet now and more controlled, and maybe that’s what made it even more disturbing. Ella knew that having a vigilante group breathing down her neck would just slow down her investigation.

  Ella started to respond when she saw Rose shake her head. Her mother stood and urged Ella to the door. They stepped outside.

  “Daughter, she can’t really hear you, not now,” Rose whispered. “Her heart is broken and she’s in too much pain. Let me take care of her while you return to work. The quicker you solve this matter, the easier it’ll be for everyone.”

  Ella looked at her mother and saw something in her eyes that disturbed her. “You don’t really disapprove of her threat to call in the Fierce Ones, do you?”

  She hesitated for a heartbeat. “Bilagáana law doesn’t always exact justice. Whether you like it or not, you know that’s true.”

  “That may be, but do your best to keep her out of trouble, Mom. I’d really hate having to arrest her,” Ella said, then added, “but I will if I have no other choice.”

  “That’s to be expected,” Rose answered stiffly.

  As she walked back inside, Ella returned to her unit. This case was like a pebble tossed out into a pond. The ripples would travel far and wide. Worried, she drove back to the crime scene.

  Despite the late hour, the crime scene team was still hard at work. Ella joined her partner, who was inside processing evidence along with Officer Tache. Officer Talk, not part of the team, had been sent to give Boots the bad news about her mother. The young women were about the same age, and Ella hoped it might make it a bit easier, especially because both had traditionalist backgrounds. Marianna was also going to ask if Boots could provide any additional information on Valerie.

  Joe Neskahi was still outside, going over every inch of ground around the building and in the parking lot. Floodlights powered by a generator made his work a little easier but, clearly, it was going to be a long night.

  “I spoke to the diner’s owner,” Justine said from the kitchenette, standing beside a cardboard box already full of collected evidence. “He’ll be here shortly. Wanna help me out in the bedroom? I’m still going over the area where the body was left.”

  They’d worked for a half an hour searching for trace evidence that might have been overlooked when Ella heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. “That’s probably the owner. I’ll go meet him,” she said.

  Sergeant Neskahi directed the big pickup to an adjacent parking spot, then pointed at Ella when she exited the building. A tall man in his early fifties climbed down from the oversize cab and went to meet her. The Anglo, who looked as if he worked out regularly, was dressed in a fitted Western style shirt and a turquoise and silver bolo tie. New-looking blue jeans and snakeskin boots suggested he might have just come from an upscale country and Western bar.

  He didn’t offer his hand, maybe knowing Navajos as a people weren’t big on handshakes. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I’ve been having trouble with my truck and it refused to start. I’m the owner of this place. My name’s Stan Brewster. I understand one of my employees, Valerie Tso, was killed here tonight.”

  “In her apartment, we believe,” Ella responded, nodding and noting that the man appeared nervous, behavior typical of people called to a murder site by the police. If he’d been too cool or collected, then she would have been suspicious. “What I need you to do first is check out the café and make sure that nothing was taken, or is out of place. We need to start ruling out some of our theories.”

  “Let’s go,” he said, leading the way.

  He unlocked the door and looked around the dining area carefully, but it was clear, even at first glance, that no one had come in. He checked the cash register next and showed her the bills inside. “There’s not much here, but that’s the way it should be. Every afternoon we make a deposit at the bank. There’s never any substantial amount left in the drawer overnight, only enough to begin the next business day.”

  Ella had taken a good look at the man’s hands while he’d operated the cash register. He had no obvious bruises or cuts. Of course, even if Brewster had been the killer, he could have easily worn gloves. The man looked strong and healthy and she wasn’t even close to ruling anyone out at the moment. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Valerie Tso dead?” Ella asked, studying his reaction.

  Stan stared across the room, lost in thought. He didn’t seemed to be particularly emotional about Valerie’s death, but then she didn’t know a thing about Brewster’s relationships with his employees.

  “Valerie had a drinking problem at one time, and several marriages behind her. She didn’t hold bac
k her history when she applied for a job but, after that, she kept her private life private, at least to me, her boss. The only thing I know for sure is that she was working hard to turn things around for herself. Valerie really wanted a second chance at life. That’s why I hired her.”

  “Do you know if she was currently seeing anyone in particular? A boyfriend?”

  “I’m not sure about that, but I can tell you this. She went to school and she worked here forty hours a week. That pretty much took up all her time on weekdays.”

  “And on weekends? Did she go to church or have any other regular activities?” Ella knew that this would have been the wrong question to have asked Valerie’s mother, Lena, who was a traditionalist. But right now she needed a full profile as quickly as possible.

  “I think she mentioned attending the church up on the mesa, east side of the highway. The Good Shepherd, it’s called.”

  She nodded. It was where her friend Reverend Bilford Tome, Ford for short, preached. Life for her had taken some strange detours lately. If anyone had told her a few years ago that she was going to be involved with a Christian minister she would have laughed. She made a mental note to speak to Ford later. He’d be able to tell her if Valerie had been a regular.

  “Come to think of it, I overheard Valerie talking to one of our patrons here at the café recently. Valerie mentioned she was having problems with one of her ex-husbands. Does that help?” Stan added.

  “Which husband? Do you have a name?”

  “’Fraid not. She never mentioned it to me, and I never asked.”

  “Okay, Mr. Brewster. We’re probably going to have other questions for you as the investigation progresses so if you decide to leave the area, please let us know in advance. We’ll want to be able to contact you if something new comes up.” Ella handed the man her card.

  “I understand. Just catch whoever did this to Valerie, okay?”

  “We will,” she nodded, wondering from his offhand tone just how sincere the man was, or if he was just saying that for effect. “There’s really no reason for you to have to stick around anymore, Mr. Brewster. But if you can leave us a key to the café, we’d appreciate it—just in case we need to get back in here tonight.”