Turquoise Girl Read online

  “Valerie liked talking to Reverend Campbell more than to Reverend Tome. She knew you had a relationship with Tome, and didn’t feel comfortable confiding in anyone with a link to her family. Everyone knows that Boots is Dawn’s sitter, and that Rose and Lena are friends for life.”

  Ella nodded silently. Ford and she had deliberately encouraged others to think they were an item, and it had obviously worked well, maybe too much so. Their original plan had just been their way of getting other people to stop trying to fix them up with just about anyone who came along. And things had worked out…better than either of them had anticipated.

  “Go on,” Ella urged.

  “According to Reverend Campbell, Valerie worried about Lena’s influence over Boots. She really didn’t like the fact that her daughter had become a traditionalist. She felt that would hold Boots back. Valerie was interested in Christianity because she felt that it could help break her own mother’s hold on Boots. She knew Christianity had a strong foothold here and that it was the only force that could hold its own, even against the staunchest traditionalist. Valerie was hoping to convert and eventually talk her daughter into joining the church as well.”

  “That’s really some manipulative thinking, partner, I mean Valerie’s wanting to use Christianity to turn her daughter against traditional tribal beliefs.”

  “All I can tell you is that it obviously made sense to Valerie. And she did have a point. Christianity—had she been able to get Boots interested—would have been the antithesis of everything Lena holds dear. That would have driven a big wedge between them.”

  “True enough,” Ella answered. “According to what I’ve learned over the years, Lena barely tolerated my father, a Christian evangelist, and she never approved of my mother marrying him.” Ella fell quiet for several moments. “But Lena did respect my father. I remember realizing that back when I was working my way through that age of confusion and contradiction called my childhood. Maybe that’s what Valerie was really after. Recapturing her child’s respect.”

  “How would you feel if Dawn took to the old ways and became a traditionalist?”

  Ella sighed. “She’s certainly been exposed to traditionalist beliefs, with Mom, Boots, and Clifford—and I’ve even allowed her to go to church a few times with friends. I think exposure to other cultures and religions is very important. So does Kevin, though he doesn’t seem to feel that strongly about religion in any form. But we both want Dawn to get a good education. What she chooses as her lifestyle after that is her own business. I won’t care as long as she gives herself all the options she can—and with that freedom comes the ability to change her mind.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “But if she becomes a member of the Fierce Ones, I’ll strangle her,” Ella added, and they both burst out laughing.

  A few minutes passed, then Ella brought out her cell phone. She punched out Officer Talk’s home number. Marianna was off duty now, but the discussion of Boots had reminded her she hadn’t checked yet to see how Jennifer had taken the death of her mother. Marianna hadn’t called in, so Ella had already concluded Boots hadn’t been able to help in narrowing the suspects. Still, Ella needed to follow up on this.

  Unfortunately, just as Ella had feared, Marianna hadn’t been able to get much information. Boots had broken down at first, then later explained that, although she and her mother had been in contact lately, not much information had passed between them, only emotions, regrets, and apologies. According to Marianna, Boots had no idea who Valerie had been associating with outside her work. Ella, hearing that Marianna had a written report waiting at the station, ended the call and advised Justine of the news, or lack of it.

  “I’ve often wondered what my life would be like right now if I hadn’t had such a close family, Ella,” Justine commented. “For Boots, it must have been devastating, growing up knowing that her own mother didn’t want her in her life.”

  “At least Boots had Lena. The woman is annoying and headstrong, but she did a good job raising her granddaughter,” Ella replied. “My mom has been so good with Dawn. You know, I can’t wait until we’re all back together again.”

  “There have been times, cuz, you’d have cut out your tongue before admitting that,” Justine said, chuckling.

  Ella shrugged. “Yeah, well…”

  As they drove into Shiprock’s east side, Ella noted that, as it often was in poor communities, the number of abandoned vehicles left to gather dust behind a house seemed to increase almost daily. They were usually scavenged for parts until only the outer shell remained.

  Driving past the small, cheaply made government houses built in the late Sixties, they entered a helter-skelter residential area littered with mobile homes and shacks in all stages of disrepair. Although most of the land leases were for one-acre lots, there were no fences to differentiate them and animals roamed freely.

  “It’s that one,” Justine said, gesturing ahead by pursing her lips, Navajo style. “The pale green one with the small black dog on the porch. His truck’s there, and it’s not on cinder blocks, so maybe he’s home.”

  As they turned up the dirt road a man came out to the porch to feed the dog, saw them approaching, and suddenly bolted for the truck.

  “He’s making a run for it.” Ella said, watching him speed away in a trail of dust, heading north, away from the main highway. “Try to stay with him, but watch out for kids and animals.” Ella adjusted her seat belt and called it in.

  The road was rough and clouded with dust, but Justine’s pursuit training paid off and she slowly gained ground. “He’s weaving all over the place. Either he’s trying to lose us in the dust, or he’s still drunk from last night,” Ella said.

  “Maybe he had leftovers for breakfast,” Justine said.

  Tso took a right at the next intersection, then another right at the corner after that, completely reversing his direction. As soon as he reached the highway, Tso shot across the median, barely missing a semi, and swung around into the eastbound lanes. He was now heading toward Hogback and the eastern edge of the Rez. The man quickly picked up speed on the good road, and his driving became much more controlled. This time he only weaved when he raced around slower vehicles in his way.

  “Maybe he’s hoping we’ll give up once he gets into county jurisdiction,” Ella said. “But no way that’s going to happen, not when we’re in pursuit of a possible murder suspect.”

  She picked up the mike and called for county backup. Before long Sergeant Emily Marquez, who patrolled the near Rez areas of San Juan County, responded.

  “I’m in Fruitland, SI One, proceeding west. I’ll lay down a spike belt when I see him coming. He’ll either have to stop or blow out all his tires.”

  “Ten-four,” Ella said, racking the mike.

  “We’ve got him now,” Justine added. “Let’s see what he does.”

  Sirens wailing, the pursuit continued east around the curve at the south end of Hogback and off reservation land. Most of the vehicles in the way managed to pull over to the shoulder, a good thing considering the trap Emily was setting just ahead. The two lanes were wide at this point, and the shoulders level, so the perp picked up the pace.

  Then they saw the emergency lights of Emily’s unit in the median. “Here we come,” Ella said into the mike. Justine slowed, not wanting to be close to their quarry when he encountered Emily’s surprise.

  “She’s laying the belt,” Ella said, seeing Emily dart across the two lanes, dragging the array of hollow metal spikes into position. “Now get out of the way,” Ella added under her breath.

  The driver braked hard, nearly losing control as the pickup started to crab a little. “He’s going to roll it!” Justine shouted.

  Somehow Tso managed to straighten out the pickup, but as the vehicle squealed, sliding down the pavement on locked brakes, there was a blue puff of smoke and flying rubber.

  “He blew out a tire. Looks like he’s not going to make it to Emily’s belt,” Ella said, watching
the truck bed swing to the right from the drag of the blown tire on the left rear.

  The pickup slid sideways another ten feet, then stopped. The driver jumped out of the cab and shot across the median and two lanes of highway. He raced down the shoulder, hurtled a fence, and headed north across a field.

  “Next stop, Colorado,” Ella said. “Pull over into the median. I’ll get him, and you help Emily clear the highway.”

  Ella was a good runner, one of the best high school cross country competitors ever in the Four Corners, in fact. She’d won State her senior year. But it took her a few seconds to get across the highway without getting hit by oncoming traffic, and by then, the man they believed to be Gilbert Tso had a two-hundred-yard lead on her. Even semi-intoxicated, he was making good speed across the dry alfalfa. Twice he stumbled and nearly fell, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet and continue.

  Ella kept pace with him, not letting him get any farther away, knowing he’d tire out sooner or later and maybe start falling. She’d have him then.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Emily’s county vehicle paralleling the chase on a dirt road at the east edge of the field. Justine, in their unmarked SUV, was right behind her. They had to go fairly slow, but they were matching Tso’s pace easily.

  “Tribal PD. Give it up,” she called out to the man. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The man didn’t respond. If anything, he picked up the pace, angling toward the corner of the field, which ended at a big arroyo.

  Ella wished she hadn’t eaten such a large breakfast on the go, it was making her sluggish, and the stubble of plants that remained after the last cutting made it hard to maintain solid footing. She poured it on, but had only halved the distance between them when the perp reached the arroyo. He jumped down inside. Assuming he wouldn’t head in the direction of the vehicles, to his right, Ella angled toward the left, hoping to head him off.

  She came to a stop when she reached the rim of the ten-foot-deep wash just as the man ducked into a big metal culvert. Here, the wash had been filled where another dirt road lined the western margin of the field.

  She ran across, expecting to see her quarry racing away. But the arroyo was empty, and there were no tracks in the bottom. He was still in the culvert.

  “He’s trapped,” she whispered into her handheld radio. “He’s hiding in the big culvert beneath this road. I’ll block the west end, and you two take the east.”

  Emily and Justine acknowledged immediately. They left their units on the parallel road to the east, and came toward the culvert along both edges of the arroyo. Tso, or whoever it turned out to be, would have to pass between them.

  It didn’t take long before they were ready. Ella and Emily jumped down into the arroyo at opposite ends of the earthen bridge, while Justine stood on the top, Taser in hand, ready to jump down and back up whomever needed her.

  Ella stepped forward, her hand on the butt of her weapon, then stopped right outside the four-foot-diameter metal pipe and looked in. She could see someone near the middle, crouched low, and at the other end of the fifteen-foot metal culvert was Emily.

  “Hey, tumbleweed. Come out slowly and we won’t have to use the Taser. Standing on all that metal you’re going to glow like a spark plug if we have to shock you,” Ella said.

  Less than five seconds later the suspect bolted, knocking Emily down as he erupted from her end of the big metal pipe. Ella sprinted forward through the culvert as fast as she could, hunkered down. But by the time she cleared the east end, Justine had already jumped right behind the fleeing man and fired the Taser. The contacts struck him in the back like wire-guided hornets and he flopped forward onto the sand.

  Justine cut the power and Emily cuffed the stunned suspect. Fifteen minutes later, the suspect was in the back of Ella and Justine’s unit. Emily had given him a field sobriety test, and he’d failed the Breathalyzer as well. Gilbert Tso, verified from his driver’s licence, was still a bit dazed and in no condition to go anywhere now, even if he’d been able to remove the handcuffs.

  Emily had already called in the all-clear to other sheriff department units when she came up to say good-bye to Justine and Ella. “I’m going to make sure our prisoner didn’t try to stash anything inside the culvert. Then I’ll examine the prisoner’s vehicle and, after that, it’ll end up in the impound yard. I called in a wrecker.”

  “Good work. Let us know if you find anything. Otherwise, see you later tonight,” Ella said. “And thanks for your help.”

  “Not a problem. By the way, I’ve never seen anyone keep up such a fast pace in stubby ground like this—except a jackrabbit, maybe. What do you have, little wings on those shoes of yours?”

  Ella laughed. “Actually, no one can run fast through a field like this one. But when you’re chasing a drunk he usually makes you look good.”

  Emily walked away, and Ella turned to her partner. “The county will handle the situation at this end. In the meantime, we’ll take the prisoner back to the station and see what he can tell us,” Ella said.

  Once they arrived, twenty minutes later, Justine went directly to booking with Tso. Ella, a few steps behind, only got as far as the front desk before Big Ed came out and signaled her into his office.

  Big Ed Atcitty, their chief of police, was aptly named. The veteran officer was shaped like a rain barrel with arms. However, it would have been a big mistake to assume his bulk was simply flab. He was as solid as they came and, to date, he enjoyed the fact that no perp had ever knocked him off his feet, though many had tried during his years in the field.

  “Take a seat, Shorty,” he said, gesturing to a chair in his office. He’d given her that nickname to tease her since Ella was actually taller than he was.

  “I just heard that the Fierce Ones are planning on looking into your homicide case. What do you know about that?” Big Ed asked.

  “So far I don’t think they’re directly involved, but that could change, depending on how fast we get results,” she said and explained the circumstances and her conversation with Lena Clani.

  “You think the suspect you hauled in could be the killer?”

  “It’s too early to know for sure, but why else run from the police? Maybe we’ll get lucky and close this one fast,” she said, hoping it would be true. Yet, even as she said it, a part of her knew it wouldn’t be so easy. Nothing on the Rez was ever that simple.

  Four

  Ella sat in the stark interrogation room across the table from their suspect, saying nothing, letting him sweat. Justine had already tried to question him but he hadn’t said a word, not even to ask for a lawyer, which, generally, was one of the first things out of a suspect’s mouth. Justine had left to write up the initial report.

  “You realize that we’ve already got you on a variety of counts, reckless driving, DWI, resisting arrest…I could go on, but I think you get the idea. We’ll be looking into all your activities, so if you’ve got any secrets, they won’t remain that way for long.”

  For the first time he glanced up.

  Ella waited for the man to say something. She could sense him trying to make up his mind.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Ella finally said. “Let’s start with murder. We found your ex-wife dead, and it looks like someone used her for a punching bag before they finally killed her.” She made a point of letting him see her staring at his bruised knuckles.

  Gilbert shifted in his chair nervously and took his hands off the table. “You can’t pin that on me. No way.”

  “Why not?” Ella pressed.

  “Look, I haven’t even seen my ex for a month or maybe two. I didn’t know she was dead until I heard it on the radio this morning.”

  “Then how do you explain your bruised knuckles and the cuts on your face?”

  “What else? A bar fight.”

  “You playing games with me, Gilbert?” she asked, deliberately using his name. He clearly wasn’t a traditionalist, but even most modernists on the Rez avoi
ded the use of names whenever possible. Names had power, and using them stripped the bearer of that source of help.

  “Give me a break, will ya? I can’t even remember what I did last night,” he grumbled.

  “Bad answer. You need to stop drinking, Gilbert. That’s at the bottom of all your problems.”

  “I’ve complied with the courts,” he said in a weary voice. “I’m in the program—for all the good it does me.”

  Something about the way he’d dropped his voice alerted her. “Maybe we should go speak to your supervisor or counselor over at the drug and alcohol rehab center,” Ella said, playing a hunch.

  His shoulders sagged. “I’m telling you right now. I didn’t take it.”

  “Take what?” Ella pressed. She’d had a gut feeling that he’d been hiding something.

  “The money from the cash box. I thought that was what you were after me for, not killing my ex-wife.”

  Ella tried to stay on track. “But others think you did—steal the money?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Will we find it when we search your home?”

  He swallowed hard. “You can’t do that, not without a warrant. I want a lawyer.”

  “One can be provided for you. We told you that in the arroyo when you were read your rights,” Ella said. “But let’s get back to the money. Are you a betting man, Gilbert, ’cause I’m willing to bet we get lucky at your house.”

  Ella knew that Officer Tache and Sergeant Neskahi were there now. They’d been able to get a warrant based on the suspect’s behavior and the physical evidence, including the bruises and injuries that must have been inflicted during a struggle—or a beating.

  “When you search my place…well, it may look like I took that cash, but I’m not a killer. And you can’t prove I did that, ’cause I didn’t.”

  “Things look bad for you.” She pointed to his skinned knuckles. “And your memory seems to be improving now that the stakes have gone up. How about some truth, now? You didn’t get those while raiding a cash box, did you?”