Death Walker (16 page)

Through the glare, Ella could see that Justine
had her pistol at the ready, bracing it over the open door of her car. “Out of the car. Now!” Ella repeated.

A young man came out, hands held high. “It’s just me!” came the voice. “What’s going on?”

“Put your hands on the car, and don’t move.” Ella approached cautiously. As he turned toward her, the lights from her car illuminated his face. She’d seen him before somewhere.

Justine holstered
her handgun. “Furman, what the hell are you doing here?”

He had a weak grin on his face. “I stopped for gas at Luther’s and saw your car there. Someone mentioned that you’d be back for it later, so I went to buy some chicken. I was hoping to talk you into sharing some with me when you returned. But when I got back I saw you pulling out. I followed, hoping to catch you. Look for yourself,” he
gestured to the front seat. “I even bought some corn on the cob. You told me you liked it, remember?”

Justine nodded, looking pained. “Furman Brownhat, meet Special Investigator Ella Clah.” Justine gave Ella an embarrassed look and put her gun away. “I did say that,” she assured Ella. “We met earlier and attended one of the classes.”

Ella remembered that Furman was the young man she’d seen with
Justine at Haske’s lecture. “Why did you follow her up this deserted road?”

Furman shifted from one leg to the other nervously. “I was planning to flag her down. I thought I was showing a little creativity and, with luck, she might appreciate that.”

Ella bit her lip, trying desperately not to smile. “Well, in that case, I suggest next time you get a little less creative. Right now you both better
get back on the main road. This place is perfect for ruining a tire or an oil pan.”

“I’ll wait for you back on the turnoff,” Justine told Furman, then gave Ella an apologetic look.

As Furman got back into his pickup, Justine met Ella’s gaze. “I had
no
idea. I’m sorry about this.”

“He’s your contact, I gather.”

“You bet. He knows a lot of people, and he attends the classes. He’s the one who
told me about Betty Lott.”

“Then go handle your source. I’m going home.”

“I should have figured it was nothing,” Justine mumbled.

“No,” Ella answered quickly. “We’re working a very dangerous case. Better to take the chance of looking foolish than to end up dead.”

“Got it, boss.”

Her voice was stern. “I mean it. Don’t take any chances. And I will expect you to cover me just like I did you.
If we make a mistake, let it be on the side of caution.”

As Ella pulled out onto the highway several minutes later, she saw Justine park next to Furman’s pickup. For a brief moment she envied her assistant. Justine was young, and at least for now wasn’t encumbered by the emotional baggage that years in law enforcement imprinted on a cop.

Ella stared into the darkness beyond the range of her
headlights. She tried to shake free of the strange mood that had come over her. She had no real reason to complain about her life. She liked being single. There was a lot to be said for answering to no one but herself.

Yet every now and then she longed for someone special in her life. She wanted to recapture the thrill of dating someone she cared about, that crazy kaleidoscope of emotions she
hadn’t felt since high school. But maybe at thirty-four, she’d seen too much of human nature to feel totally carefree around another person. Fear and distrust would eventually undermine her. Some things, like innocence, came only once in a lifetime.

Ella arrived home and parked near the kitchen door. The lights were on inside, and she could see Rose putting away dishes. Ella climbed out of the
Jeep slowly. No matter what else happened in her life, there was always a sense of continuity about coming home. It reconnected her to the past while giving her strength to face the future.

Rose met her at the door. “You look as if you’ve had a difficult day.”

“Yes,” she answered, not feeling up to elaborating.

Rose seemed to sense it. “There’s some green chile stew I can heat up.”

Ella shook
her head. “No. I have a box of chicken I left on the car seat. I’d love some of your tea to go with it, though.”

A few minutes later, as she sat across the table from her mother, Ella noticed how Rose had a habit of stirring her tea though she never put sugar in it. Ella glanced down at herself and saw she too was stirring, though she hadn’t added anything to it either. Continuity. It made her
wonder what kind of daughter she would have had, or might have still.

Ella shook free of the thought. She tended to get overly philosophical when she was dead on her feet. “Do you mind if we don’t talk much tonight? I need time to just lay back and think.”

Rose smiled. “When I was much younger, and trying to figure something out, I used to take dinner into my room, turn the lights off, and sit
in the window, eating alone by moonlight.”

Ella smiled. “That’s just what I want to do tonight.”

Rose handed Ella the half-eaten plate of chicken from the table and the glass of tea. “Go then. If you decide to talk, I’ll be around.”

Continuity. Some links went so deep nothing could ever destroy them. Even time, with the enormous power it wielded, could not stand against them. If anything, it
strengthened them even more.

NINE

The next morning, Ella stopped by the office to fax the strange message she’d intercepted from Peterson over to the FBI. Once finished, she drove to the Farmington post office. She arrived shortly before eight. She saw the postmaster come out and unlock the lobby doors. Cup of coffee in her hand, Ella went inside.

As the hours passed, her restlessness grew. She had checked as the postal
clerks sorted and put away the mail, and the letter was already in the mailbox. Despite the morning crowd, no one drew near that particular box. Ella wondered if she’d been compromised somehow, but that didn’t seem likely. No one had given her even a passing glance.

Ella met Justine outside on the loading dock shortly after twelve. Although Ella hadn’t really done anything except stake out the
box, she felt more tired than if she’d run a marathon. “If you see anyone getting that letter, get hold of me on the radio and make sure you follow them.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’m going back to talk to Duncan James.”

Justine nodded. “I remember he was at Haske’s lecture. I know he was a wannabe Singer who never really followed through with it. Have you learned something more about him?”

“I haven’t got a thing on him, not even a gut feeling. All I know is that he’s interested in the past, and he attends the free lectures. What interests me is why he never pursued being a Singer. I’m also wondering if he’s thinking about going into it now because of the gossip about skinwalkers and things getting out of balance. It’s only a fishing expedition, but who knows? It might lead someplace.”

“Then I hope it turns out better than my visit with Betty Lott.”

“Did you manage to find her?”

“Oh yeah, for all the good it did me. Seems Betty disagrees with everything her mother has to say about any given subject. I think she’s interested in our traditional ways mostly because Anna hates them. There’s such animosity between those two!”

“It happens that way sometimes between mothers and
daughters. They can be too alike, or not alike enough. Either of those can cause trouble.”

Justine nodded. “Bottom line though was that I came up empty. I just don’t think Betty knows anything we can use. I certainly hope you have better luck than I’ve had when you talk to James. We’re running out of leads.”

“No, not really. I still have to check back with Bruce Cohen. Yazzie may have decided
to trade. Plan on being here at the post office all day if I get hung up, okay? If you need someone to relieve you, call me. I’ll pass the request on to Big Ed myself.”

“I won’t need anyone. I’ve been on stakeouts before. I can handle this.”

Ella nodded. “Just don’t let boredom make you complacent. And stay in touch with me.”

“Will do, boss.”

As Ella drove back to the Rez, she speculated on
the best way to approach Duncan James. There was no way to tell how he felt about her family. She’d have to sound him out, and go slowly. There were so few leads in this case, she had to stir up the waters whenever possible to see what came to the surface.

Forty minutes later, she arrived at James’s garage, just outside Shiprock. James did good business here, catering to travelers going through
the Four Corners area in every direction. She parked where she wouldn’t block any of his service bays and walked inside.

The high-pitched sound of an air hammer seemed to echo back at her with incredible intensity. She went to the man crouched in front of a tire he’d just lifted down from a car on a rack. “I’m a police officer. My name is Ella Clah. Are you the owner?”

“That’s me, Duncan James,”
he answered, and turned around. “What can I do for you?” His eyes narrowed as they settled on her. “I know who you are. You let Tony shoot himself right in front of his little girl. What brings you
here?
”

The unexpected backlash from the hostage situation struck her like a slap in the face. With effort, she decided to let the vicious remark pass. “At the moment, I’m tracking down anyone who ever
attended the lectures our recent murder victim gave.” Since Ella wasn’t really sure if James had attended those or not, she waited without elaborating.

“Yeah, I went to a few. So what?”

“No problem. I’ve heard about you, that’s all. Since you’ve got a little more life experience than the students who normally go to them, I was hoping you could help us.”

“What do you need?” James regarded her
thoughtfully.

“You’ve been to some of the lectures. Did anyone there ever strike you as a troublemaker or seem clearly out of place?”

James considered it. “The kids, for the most part, never seem to belong at those lectures, if you want the truth. They just don’t show the right attitude. They wear their new jeans, and shirts with somebody else’s name on them. They listen to country music before
class, after class, and sometimes during it. They want to learn, but they don’t really want to commit to anything.”

“What about you? This is a pretty modern, high-tech operation,” she said waving around at the garage and its collection of hydraulic tools and computerized analyzers. “Yet I heard there was a time you wanted to be a Singer.”

“I did, then I realized it would take years and years,
and I had to find a way to make a living to support my kids.”

“Do you regret your decision now?”

He considered it in silence for a long time. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I’d say yes but, you know, the most you can do is master some Songs. And even that takes a long time. Being a mechanic is more practical.” James shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe it’s like looking back and thinking of the girl you
left behind. There’s always a little bit of regret for what might have been.”

“As a gas station owner, you see almost everyone sooner or later. You hear a lot of talk most of us never would. Do you know if the victim had any enemies?”

He rubbed his jaw. “I know about Steven Nez. He was going out with the dead man’s daughter, and he already has a wife.”

“Do you think he could have been the killer?”

“No, but that’s the closest the old man ever got to having an enemy, as far as I know.” James wiped his oily hands on a rag. “Now I have a question for you. I’ve heard the rumors that skinwalkers are active again,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Many think the
Dineh
are in for some rough times. I’ve given it some thought, too, but there’s something that doesn’t add up to me. If skinwalkers
are becoming active, wouldn’t you and your brother be the logical targets? Why pick on an old man like the historian?” He looked at her thoughtfully. “The only answer that makes sense to me is that the murder was carried out to incite you, and the choice of a victim was more or less random.”

Ella considered the implications. James had brought up a good point that hadn’t occurred to her. Up to
now, she hadn’t considered the possibility that the murder had been a way to get her involved, knowing her position in the tribal police. “Call me, anytime, day or night, if you hear anything,” she said, handing him her card.

“No answer to my question?”

“I don’t have one. I’ll have to think about it.”

“You do that,” he muttered.

As Ella walked back to her vehicle, her mind was racing. She’d
suspected that the elaborate staging at the murder scene had been done to divert her from the true motive of the crime. But maybe her theory had been too simplistic. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. The killer had wanted to confuse and distract her, but at the same time, he’d wanted to make sure she was involved. Maybe the staging had been the killer’s way of challenging her. That sounded like
Peterson Yazzie again. As an ex-cop he certainly would have all the knowledge needed to direct and misdirect at the same time.

As she drove back to Farmington, intending to relieve Justine, Ella received a radio call. The dispatcher informed her that Peterson Yazzie was asking for a visit. “He won’t talk to anyone but you,” the dispatcher added, “Dr. Kring wants to know how soon you can get there.
He needs to speak with you too.”

“Concerning what?”

“The doctor wouldn’t say.”

“Okay, I’m on my way. Tell him to expect me. ‘Four?”

“Ten-four.”

Ella racked the mike. To assume that Peterson was about to hand over the name of the person behind the bomb incident just didn’t sound right. Something more was going on. That would also explain Kring’s eagerness to see her.

Ella felt tension coiling
all through her body. She had no desire to meet Peterson face-to-face again, but her fear was ridiculous under the circumstances. Although Peterson had tried to kill her before with a shotgun, at the psychiatric hospital he was unarmed. She’d handled tougher men hand-to-hand while making arrests, and there’d be plenty of orderlies around if things got rough. She’d be in no danger whatsoever.