Coyote's Wife (32 page)

They’d just arrived at the tribal police station when Blalock received a call on his cell phone. He’d been asking for a second agent to be assigned to the area, and from his half of the conversation, it appeared that his request was about to be honored.

“I’m scheduled for a conference call in about a half hour, so I’ve got to head back to my office. I’ll
catch up with you later,” he said, not getting out of the car.

Ella walked back inside the station with Justine. Her partner went to the lab, and Ella continued to her own office, her thoughts circling around the events of that morning.

Ella sank down into her chair, but before she could even take a breath, she heard someone at the door. Glancing up, she saw Big Ed.

He came in, closed the door
behind him, and took a seat. “We’ve carried out our sting op, but no one’s checked up on the license plate. That means the leak isn’t coming from one of us. Maybe it’s the spouse of an officer, or someone even more removed from our direct lines of communication. Either way stay sharp, but be advised that it’s
not
anyone on your team.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” she said.

“Do you have an update
for me on Ervin Benally and what’s happening with him?”

Ella told him about the incident with the battery fluid, and the hydrometer Blalock had found with traces of brake fluid on it. “The Nike footprints are also a match to the ones we found up in the mountains around the Dodge. That’s no coincidence, so we can safely infer that Ervin was the intended target that day in the mountains, not George.”

Big Ed nodded. “Considering everything else that’s happened, it seems logical to assume Ervin
was
the intended target. But whoever did that had serious injury or death in mind, not just harassment like with these later incidents.”

“The person who drained the brake fluid likely didn’t know Ervin had gone back to the office early, though the tampering itself was obviously planned ahead of time.
But here’s what doesn’t add up. Why start with attempted murder and then back off and resort to penny-ante acts like vandalism and crank calls?” Ella said.

“Maybe having the wrong guy die scared off the bad guys, at least temporarily.”

Ella considered it. “Let’s go back to the beginning. The wreck was supposed to look like an accident. I’m thinking that the perp was hoping nobody would pay close
attention to the brakes. For all we know, the guy who removed the brake fluid was also planning to set fire to the wreck and destroy the evidence before anyone else came on the scene.

“But then the wrong guy ended up dead and the Dodge came out of it intact, so he didn’t want to push his luck and try to arrange for another driving accident. The perp then changed tactics. He tried to replace the
missing brake fluid before anyone noticed and at the same time decided to pressure Ervin until he cracked. Considering the guy was a nervous wreck already and liable to shoot himself or someone
else, that was a brilliant strategy. Why kill Ervin when all you need to do is drive him to self-destruct?”

“But again, Shorty, to what end? Why work so hard to get rid of Ervin? What’s the motive?”

“I don’t know yet,” Ella admitted. “I’m still working on that.”

After a pause, Ella told Big Ed about the crystal gazer and what she and Blalock had learned from Franklin.

“Is the FBI going to be taking an active role in this case?”

She nodded. “StarTalk has a federal tie-in because it’s linked to government initiatives from the FCC and funding from the Telecommunications Development Fund.”

“Okay, then. Use whatever help they can give us,” Big Ed said.

After Big Ed walked out, Tache came in. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you. Do you have a minute? It’s important.” Ella gestured for him to take a seat. “What’s on your mind?”

“I had a very strange conversation with Jesse, my brother-in-law, last night. He’s the one in the Fierce Ones. Lately, he’s been treating me like a long-lost
friend and it was starting to creep me out. I let it slide at first, but when it was obvious that something was up, I figured I’d better start pushing for answers. Turns out that they’ve been getting very accurate tips concerning a few of our investigations and some of the guys thought
I
was their informant. They’d come to the conclusion that I was leaking information to them through my girlfriend,
since the person who gets in touch via phone with them is a woman.”

Ella considered this new information. “Do you think Jesse was involved in that incident involving Marilyn Charley and Wallace Curtis?”

“No way. A few months ago my sister cut her knee and
he fainted—I mean dead away. He can’t stand the sight of blood,” he said, laughing.

“And yet he’s in the Fierce Ones?” Ella observed.

“He
has his uses to them. The guy can’t fight his way out of a paper bag, but he knows just about every Navajo in the community—where they work, what clans they belong to, and so on. And he keeps everything in his head. He’s their primary source of information, a walking database.”

“That’s quite a skill. Under different circumstances he might have made a good law enforcement officer.”

“It would
have had to have been a desk job. Jesse doesn’t like guns,” he said.

Ella laughed. “Okay. Here’s what I’d like you to do. See if you can get Jesse to tell you who
he
believes is causing trouble for Ervin.”

“I’ve already spoken to him about that. I don’t think the Fierce Ones have any idea who it could be. That bothers them as much, if not more, than it does us.”

Once Tache left, Ella leaned
back in her chair and looked out the window at the clear blue skies, focusing her thoughts, not her eyes. The Fierce Ones and Ervin were being manipulated. That much was clear. Ella considered all the possible suspects, mentally searching for any that were intelligent and devious enough to play successful mind games like these. One name came to mind instantly—Abigail Yellowhair.

Before she could
give it any additional thought, Justine rushed into her office.

“Big Ed wants us to roll,” Justine said. “Abigail Yellowhair has been attacked.”

She stared at Justine for a moment. “Was she at the Benallys’?” Ella asked, trying to make some sense of it.

“No, she was at her own home. She has a huge dog,
and
a bodyguard, but the dog was locked in her greenhouse, and whoever it was clocked her
bodyguard, Roxanne Dixon.”

“Roxanne wouldn’t have been easy to take down,” Ella said. “Who made the call?”

“Dispatch said it was Dixon, so she must have managed to recover long enough to make it to a phone. But why go after Abigail now? How does she fit into this?” Justine asked.

“Good question, partner,” Ella said. “This case gets more complicated with each passing minute. Let’s roll.”

They
arrived at Mrs. Yellowhair’s home a short time later. The house was relatively new, and larger than most on the reservation, but not pretentious. Two vehicles were parked side by side in front of the garage, one of them a bright yellow luxury sedan, and the other the green pickup Ella recognized as belonging to Roxanne.

They’d just come to a full stop when Roxanne came out the front door holding
a bag of ice over her temple.

“About time you got here,” she muttered as Ella and Justine climbed out of their tribal vehicle. “Let me give you the highlights,” she added, motioning them toward the door.

“I heard a noise, then the dog barking in the greenhouse. I walked over to let him back out and that’s when I got clocked from behind with some kind of sap. I never saw it coming. When I woke
up I was tied to a chair in the kitchen. Mrs. Yellowhair was being roughed up in the living room by three hoods. The lady had balls, Clah. She told them she didn’t respond to threats and that they were wasting their energy. They slapped her around and threw her into the wall a few times. When she finally stopped getting back up, they left, but not before spray painting a charming little message
on her car—the yellow one, naturally.”

“Will you be able to ID any of them?” Ella asked her.

“I can give you a general description—size, build, and approximate weight—but that’s about it. They were wearing
ski masks and leather gloves. And they were sweating like pigs—at least they smelled that way.”

Ella followed Roxanne inside the house. Abigail was in the living room on the velvet sofa,
holding a drink in her hand. Her face was bruised, one eye almost swollen shut and turning black around the edges. A small cut over her eyebrow was bleeding slightly and she was holding a damp, bloodstained dishcloth against it. The German shepherd that lay at her feet looked up as they came in, and growled, a low threatening rumble.

“Did you call an ambulance?” Ella asked Roxanne.

“No ambulance,”
Abigail said firmly. “I’ve had worse than this,” she said. Seeing the questions in Ella’s eyes, she shrugged. “I never back down, even when I should.”

“Did you see or hear anything that might help us identify the men who did this to you?” Ella pressed, staying focused on the case.

“Their English told me that they were poorly educated Navajos; not real young, but not older than forty, probably.
They ordered me to tell my son-in-law to abandon the StarTalk project. If he didn’t, they said that he’d die alone—slowly and painfully. When I told them what they should do to themselves and to each other, they decided to use me as a punching bag.”

Ella looked at Roxanne. “Do
you
need medical help?”

“No, but the goons who did this will if I ever catch up to them,” she answered, then setting
the ice bag down, gestured to the front door. “Come on, I’ll show you the car. I didn’t get a chance to go outside until after they were long gone since Mrs. Yellowhair had to untie me first. Considering what she’d been through, it took awhile.”

Ella followed Roxanne and, as they came around to the driver’s side of Abigail’s car, she saw the vandal had used
bright red spray paint on Mrs. Yellowhair’s
luxury sedan. It said, “Death to Traiters.”

“They can’t spell,” Ella commented.

“But it still sends a clear message,” Roxanne answered. “Oh, you might want to take a look at what they left
inside
the car. I haven’t told Mrs. Yellowhair about that yet because she’s been through enough already today.”

“Tell me what?” Abigail asked.

Roxanne and Ella turned around. Neither of them had heard her
coming up from behind.

Roxanne moved to her side quickly. “Mrs. Yellowhair, are you sure you should be walking around?”

Abigail stood a little straighter and glared at Roxanne. “Don’t treat me like an old woman.
You’re
walking around, aren’t you?”

Roxanne backed away and looked at Ella, but said nothing.

Abigail glanced at Roxanne, then focused on Ella. “Since it’s
your
case now, I suppose
the information has to come from you. What haven’t I been told?” Abigail looked at the car and read the message. “Their spelling stinks. What else is there?”

“It’s what’s inside the car,” Ella said, leaning over to take a closer look. The window was rolled down.

There was a crudely sewn pouch on the seat. It was made of leather or skin, but didn’t appear to be cowhide. There was also a brown
powdery substance scattered everywhere that appeared to be ashes of some kind.

As she took a closer look, Ella realized that there were also chunks of an unidentified material mixed in with the ashes, maybe bone. Navajo witches—skinwalkers—had just cursed Abigail Yellowhair.

Ella glanced back at Abigail just as the woman reached out and grabbed Roxanne’s arm to steady herself. “This is disgusting,” Abigail murmured. “That’s
all
it is.”

Yet, from her shaky voice Ella knew that no matter how modern Abigail was, some things were just too difficult to brush aside. Skinwalkers evoked terror in most Navajos. They represented the
unknown and the uncontrollable—enemies who would break every taboo and carry out disgusting acts to get what they wanted.

“We’ll be processing the scene. With luck, we’ll be able to get some evidence that’ll lead us to the people who did this,” Ella said firmly.

“You’re thinking of prints and things like that?” Abigail asked, confused. “They wore gloves inside the house. Even if they’d taken
them off out here, what makes you think that these kind of people would be in your database?”

Ella noticed that Abigail had avoided using the word skinwalker. “There are many ways to follow an investigative trail,” Ella said, but she knew Abigail was right. Unless the men had criminal records or had been in the military,
chances were their fingerprints wouldn’t be on file anywhere.

Wordlessly,
Abigail turned and walked back inside.

Roxanne met Ella’s gaze. “Mrs. Yellowhair doesn’t have much faith in words and promises,” Roxanne said.

“The knowledge needed to do something like this will narrow down the field of suspects.”

“Maybe,” Roxanne conceded, “but skinwalkers don’t exactly announce that they’re skinwalkers. They have to keep that secret if they want to survive, so they’ve learned
to blend in.”