Mourning Dove

MOURNING DOVE

Books by Aimée & David Thurlo

Ella Clah Novels

Blackening Song
Death Walker
Bad Medicine
Enemy Way
Shooting Chant
Red Mesa
Changing Woman
Tracking Bear
Wind Spirit
White Thunder
Mourning Dove

Plant Them Deep

Lee Nez Novels

Second Sunrise
Blood Retribution
Pale Death

Sister Agatha Novels

Bad Faith
Thief in Retreat
Prey for a Miracle

AN ELLA CLAH NOVEL

AIMÉE & DAVID THURLO

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

MOURNING DOVE

Copyright © 2006 by Aimée and David Thurlo

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

www.tor.com

Forge
^®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Thurlo, Aimée.
     Mourning Dove / Aimée Thurlo and David Thurlo.
         p. cm.
   “A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
     ISBN 0-765-31175-5
     EAN 978-0-765-31175-7
    1. Clah, Ella (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Police—New Mexico—Fiction.
3. Navajo Indians—Fiction. 4. Navajo women—Fiction. 5. Policewomen—Fiction. 6. New Mexico—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3570.H82 M68   2006
813’.54—dc22

2005058513

First Edition: April 2006

Printed in the United States of America

0  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

To Monadita Berndes and Hortensia Martel—for memories cherished in the pages of my mind

We would like to express our gratitude to those members of the armed forces, particularly those of you in the various investigative divisions, who helped us out when we needed it. You wanted to remain anonymous, and we will respect that, but you all deserve a special thank-you.

A very special thank-you, too, to the Navajo Codetalkers and their relatives who helped us with our
research.

MOURNING DOVE

I
n all her years serving first with the FBI, and then the Navajo Tribal Police, Special Investigator Ella Clah had never had an office with a window—until now. Of course, back in her Bureau days, she’d never even had an office—just a desk. Progress.

Budgets had grown, not due to tribal prosperity but because of an increase in violent crimes across the Navajo Nation.
That had forced an expansion of their existing station and Ella, as head of their Major Crimes Unit, had landed space in their new wing. The odor of fresh paint was a constant reminder of the changes taking place in the department as was the color scheme, a palette of soft aquas, designed to relieve stress and maximize efficiency.

Ella swiveled in her chair, took a sip of freshly brewed coffee,
and gazed at Ship Rock, the rock formation that was their town’s namesake. In actuality, the jagged rock outcropping was the eroded neck of a volcano that had formed three million years ago.

Ella recalled the old story about the huge flying monsters that had once lived there. The tale was part of every Navajo child’s education from before the first grade—that is, if they attended reservation
schools. The story was vibrant with the richness and rhythms of the
Dineh
, The People’s, legends. She could almost
hear her mother, Rose, telling her the tale, keeping the legends alive—a gift from one generation to the next.

The
Dineh
had lived in fear of the giant birds who’d made their home on the upper levels of Ship Rock, Rose had taught her. The birds would swoop down and smash their prey
against the rocks, then feed on the remains. Monster Slayer, one of the Hero Twins, was chosen to do battle with them, but when he approached their hunting ground, one of the giant birds picked him up in his talons, flew high into the skies, and dropped him, leaving him to fall on the rocks below. Expecting nothing less, Monster Slayer had prepared well and landed gently because he’d possessed
a life feather given to him by Spider Woman.

Then Monster Slayer discovered that the giant birds had young and, after he killed the male and the female, the young began to cry and plead for their lives. Monster Slayer took pity on them and, instead of killing them, he turned the older one into an eagle so he could furnish feathers for men, and the younger one into an owl so men would listen to
the owl’s voice and be able to discern the future.

Rabbit, who was below, took some feathers from the giant bird Monster Slayer had killed and stuck them in his fur. And that’s why jackrabbits have large ears that look like giant feathers.

All the
Dinetah
, the land of the Navajos, was filled with stories about the ones who’d come before. Every sandstone formation, pass or valley, mountain peak,
and rock formation within the Four Corners and beyond echoed with the tradition of the
Dineh
.

Ella sipped her coffee. It was still early, and she refused to rush as she made up for all those years of staring at painted cinder blocks and file cabinets instead of the blue sky and drifting white clouds. The wind was calm now, as it usually was during the early morning hours, and she intended to
savor this moment of peace. By noon, or maybe even before, the gusts could start again, blowing sand and dust everywhere.

Gathering her thoughts, she watched the crows hop around
the parking lot outside, looking for crumbs and candy wrappers that still held a hint of flavor. Just beyond them she could see two support posts of a control gate built into the bank of the irrigation ditch. Last night
some would-be comedian had slipped an old pair of khaki uniform pants onto the posts, then placed shoes on the ends. At first glance it looked like an officer was headfirst in the ditch. Everyone who’d driven past it on the way into the station had chuckled and commented about it, so it had remained in place for the moment. Later, the conservancy people would probably come by and return it to
normal.

Finished with her coffee, she turned, hearing Justine step through the doorway. “Morning, partner,” Ella greeted.

Justine nodded, a somber expression on her face. “Nothing’s good about it now. Another possible carjacking went down late last night or earlier this morning. This time all hell has broken loose.”

“What’ve we got?” Ella said, automatically reaching for her keys as she dropped
the empty foam cup into the wastebasket.

“We’ve got a homicide, too—a soldier who just returned home from Iraq. The officer at the scene ID’d him.”

“How’d he die?” Ella grabbed her jacket, and was out the door before Justine had answered.

“Multiple gunshot wounds, according to the officer.”

“Do you have a ‘twenty’ on this?” she asked referring to the location of the crime as they hurried down
the hall.

“Just off Highway 64 about three miles west of Rattlesnake,” Justine answered. “And we’ll have to take your unit. Mine’s getting new tires.”

Once in the parking lot, they hurried to Ella’s unmarked vehicle, Justine taking the keys. As they pulled up to the highway and Justine braked, checking for traffic, they both heard an ominous high-pitched squeal. “It’s the dust from yesterday’s
wind. Smell it in the air? It’s starting early today, too. The breeze will turn into gusts before noon today for sure and sand will fly everywhere including the brake linings again,” Ella said. “I read
in the paper that the wind’s been getting up to sixty in the afternoons. I hate this kind of weather. Waves and waves of sand, pitting the windshield, settling into the brake linings, even drifting
into the gun barrels.”

“Doesn’t do much for your mood, does it, partner?” Justine observed with a wry smile.

“No, it doesn’t. I can’t stand the constant whistling through the slightest gap in the windows and doors, the sand blasting against your skin . . . not to mention evidence flying everywhere.”

“Some say that Wind carries information. You just have to listen carefully,” Justine said.

“Now you sound like my brother. Clifford knows all the stories. It’s part of what makes him a good medicine man. He says that Wind has supporting power—that if I tune myself in to it, rather than become its adversary, I’d get farther. But I still hate the taste of sand in my mouth, and since Wind puts it there . . .”

Justine laughed.

Ella turned down the volume of the police radio. Today, it
was mostly static and garbled transmissions. Another of Wind’s side effects on obsolete equipment. The budget increases had targeted additional staff and facilities, not equipment, unfortunately. “What else did you get on this latest crime?”

“Officer Mark Lujan called it in just a few minutes before I came into your office,” Justine answered. “He found the body down a side road near a cattle
guard. It was visible from the highway. Most of the traffic this time of day goes toward town instead of away, so apparently nobody coming into work saw it across the road. Lujan was on his way west toward Beclabito.”