Mourning Dove (4 page)

“Suppose he hid something valuable between the pages? Money or paychecks?”

“Maybe. But there were four or five notebooks there. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Could be we’ll find them outside,” Ella said. “Or do you think whoever sneaked in was a kid, or an old classmate planning
on playing a trick on your brother?”

“He picked the wrong day for it then,” Samuel said.

Ella led Samuel back outside. She wouldn’t risk compromising the scene any more than they’d already done. With luck, Justine would be able to lift prints. She called her partner, filled her in, then turned her attention back to Samuel. “Tell me about your brother.”

“He returned to Fort Bliss about three
weeks ago and was released from service yesterday. He was going to drive home in a rental car since his pickup is at my home in Farmington.”

“You said
car
. Do you know if he might have rented a pickup instead?” Ella asked, knowing that was the carjackers’ vehicle of choice. No cars had been taken to date that they knew about.

“I have no idea.”

“Where did Jimmy work locally before his unit shipped
overseas?”

“At Jensen’s Lumber in Farmington, out on east Main. But he was planning to quit after he returned. My brother was saving up to pay for some classes at the community college. Writing classes, mostly.”

Samuel turned away from her, stared at the house for a few
seconds, then faced her again. “I want to be kept current on any progress you make. I need to make sure that we catch whoever
did this and that he pays.”

She’d expected nothing less. Ella met his gaze and held it. “I’ve been in a situation similar to yours, so I know what kind of things are racing through your mind. But
I’m
in charge of this investigation. I’ll keep you informed as much as I can, but this is
my
case. If you start getting in my way, you’ll mess up things for everyone—except your brother’s killer or killers.”

“What do you expect
me
to do? Sit on the sidelines?” he countered.

“Be a professional and make darned sure you
do
stay on the sidelines, Officer.”

“I can help you,” he insisted, walking back to her car, Ella beside him. “I’m on the team investigating the carjackings going down outside the Rez. And from what I saw, it’s almost certain that the perps who’ve been running roughshod all over the
Four Corners are the same ones who murdered my brother today. Our departments are supposed to be working together on this,” Samuel said, his eyes flat and hooded—a cop’s gaze that revealed nothing and spoke volumes. “That makes it my business—officially. And if someone had it in for my brother, I’m going to find out who, like it or not.”

“Noted,” Ella said. At this point it would make sense to
suspect a strong connection to the carjacking ring. “Now tell me something I don’t know. How come you didn’t go pick up your brother?” Ella asked. “You knew when he was coming home, and it’s only a six-hour-plus drive to Albuquerque and back.”

“I was filling in for someone on the day shift and couldn’t get off,” he answered, then after a brief pause added, “But that wasn’t the only reason. I
probably could have found a way had I wanted to. You might as well find out now that my brother and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things. I’ve only spoken to him once on the phone since he got back to the States, and I wasn’t planning on
making the welcome-home parade in Farmington that was planned for tomorrow now that all the soldiers are finally back.”

“What was the problem between you
two?” Ella pressed.

He shrugged. “Except for politics, he and I disagreed on practically everything. We were brothers, but we haven’t been friends for a very long time.”

Samuel was in front of her, resting against the car door, but wouldn’t look directly at her for more than a few seconds at a time. He was either distracted or holding out on her. Ella watched him carefully. Depending on where
he’d been at the time of Jimmy Blacksheep’s death, Samuel might soon become a suspect. “Where were you at around seven this morning?”

He stood up straight, the vein in his forehead bulging. “You think
I
killed my brother? Where the hell did that come from?” he said, then took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

Ella refused to be intimidated, and the fact that she was about an
inch taller than him made it easier, though he outweighed her by fifty pounds, at least. “Come on,
Officer
. Give me a break. You’re been a cop for how long? You know the drill.” Her emphasis on the word “officer” and her dispassionate tone of voice got through to him, as Ella had hoped.

“Yeah, yeah. Assume nothing, don’t rule out anyone automatically,” he said with a curt nod. “I was home, getting
ready for work,” he answered in a calmer tone.

She’d known quite a few officers who were skilled game players and could lie with frightening ease. Unable to read him, she just nodded. “Okay.”

He reached for the door handle, then took his hand away. “I forgot to ask. What’s the drill at the morgue? I know the tribe has its own M.E. and that there’ll be an autopsy. But how soon will my brother’s
body be released? I need to make burial arrangements.”

“Call Dr. Roanhorse at her office and see where things stand. You can have the body picked up from the morgue once she releases it. And Samuel?”

His eyebrows went up.

“Me or one of my team will need to talk to you again, so I need your home address and phone number. And your cell?”

Samuel reached for his card, then scribbled a telephone
number and his address on the back. “I don’t have a cell, but leave a message on my answering machine or at the station if you can’t reach me on duty. I’ll call you back ASAP.”

Ella watched as Samuel climbed into his unit, then drove off. Stepping away from the dust cloud his tires had churned up, she brought out her cell phone. She’d need everything the Farmington PD had on Samuel—but she wanted
the background check kept under wraps. Mentally reviewing her options she realized that there was only one person who could pull that off—Shiprock Police Chief Atcitty—Big Ed.

E
lla sat across the desk from Shiprock’s chief of police. Big Ed Atcitty was aptly named. What he lacked in stature, he made up for in bulk. He was a beefy man, broad shouldered and built like a fireplug, but he’d remained in shape over the years despite the fact that he rarely went out into the field anymore.

“Shorty, I’m trying to get what you wanted from the
Farmington PD, but they’re on the defensive.”

Even though Ella was at least a head taller than he was, her boss insisted on calling her Shorty. Ella knew the nickname had stemmed from the easy relationship they shared, one based on trust and respect, and didn’t mind. On the Rez, many people were given nicknames to avoid using their proper names which were considered the bearer’s personal property.

“If one of their own is dirty, or even a potential suspect,” Big Ed continued, “they want to handle it. It’s that jurisdictional posturing again.”

“Understandable,” she said. “But I have nothing to give them in the form of physical evidence. All I’ve really got is a feeling that Officer Blacksheep is holding out on me. The thing is, Chief, I trust my instincts.”

Big Ed rocked back and forth
in his swivel chair, and stared pensively out the window at something Ella couldn’t see from where she was sitting. Silence stretched out, but she knew better than to interrupt it. Pauses in conversation on the outside usually meant it was time for the other person to speak. Here on the Navajo Nation, more often than not, it just meant that someone was still thinking. Interrupting that process was
considered extremely rude.

“Blacksheep has a good reputation with his department, so tread very, very carefully, Shorty.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded her for a moment. “Any other suspects?”

“Too early to tell, though the carjacking ring is at the top of the list, for obvious reasons. But I’m not ruling out any other possible motives. We’ll have more to go on after the crime-scene
evidence is processed. Justine is also getting me a list of soldiers who served in the victim’s unit and live in this area or may have passed through in the past twenty-four hours. After we find out what kind of vehicle the victim was driving, we can put out a statewide bulletin.”

“At this point Farmington PD believes that the murder was the result of a carjacking gone wrong . . .” Big Ed said,
letting the sentence hang.

“It’s possible, I suppose, maybe even likely, but there’re some reasons to believe otherwise. Not everything adds up right. For one, why would Jimmy put up a fight over a rental vehicle? And if it turns out he was driving a car instead of a pickup—I’m still trying to track down the rental agency—that’ll be another discrepancy.”

Big Ed considered it. “After you’ve been
in battle—particularly the kind where there are no front lines—hostiles are everywhere and could be anyone—you’re jazzed. It sometimes takes months to get your feet back on firm ground. The victim was carrying a weapon from what you could tell?”

“Yes, or else managed to grab one from his attackers. But we
couldn’t find shell casings or the weapon itself. The blood evidence is still being analyzed,
but we know it came from two different individuals.”

Big Ed leaned back in his chair. “Once the Tribal Council hears about this, it won’t be long before they’ll be on my back, pushing for a solution. One of our tribe’s warriors goes to a foreign land, fights and survives while supplying our troops, and then dies here between the sacred mountains where he should have been safe from attack.” He
shook his head. “A hero like that deserved better. We have to balance the scales.”

Ella nodded. At the core of the Navajo way was the belief that all things were connected, that nothing existed independent of its surroundings. To restore harmony, the scales had to be balanced—in this case, the scales of justice.

“Import manpower from other divisions if you need to. People—both on and off the
Rez—will demand answers. Those carjackers have been running law enforcement in circles for months, but now a returning soldier has died. Their criminal operation will die next,” he added flatly.

“I’m on it,” she said.

“Your priority as of this moment is to catch the killer or killers,” Big Ed said flatly. “Keep me posted.”

Ella returned to her office, checked her watch, and sighed. She’d really
hoped to go see her eight-year-old daughter, Dawn, star in her school play this afternoon, but it was out of the question now. Dawn was scheduled to play the part of a medicine woman who’d tended to The People after the Long March—when Kit Carson and the U.S. Army had forced the tribe to walk to an interment camp in Bosque Redondo.

Ella and Rose had been helping her rehearse for a month, and
Dawn had been really excited. Although Ella knew that Dawn had been counting on her to attend, there was nothing she could do about that now. Ella called home and told her mother in general terms what had happened.

“We’re under pressure to solve this case quickly, Mom. There’s just no way I’ll be able to take off work today to go to my daughter’s play.” Out of respect for Rose, who was a traditionalist,
she avoided mentioning Dawn by name. Traditionalists believed that names had power that could be used by the bearer in emergencies if that power was kept fresh and strong. To use a person’s name often depleted them of the one resource that was theirs alone.

“But your daughter has been looking forward to this for weeks! She’s worked hard. It’s
important
that you be there. Couldn’t you at least
stop by, let her see you, then leave?”

Hearing footsteps, Ella glanced up and waved Justine into her office. “Mom, I’ve made every event this year at school except for one. Besides, she knows what my job is like, and I warned her more than once that if an emergency came up—”

“Your child heard you with her ears, but not with her heart. She’s young, and she thinks that if she just hopes hard enough,
it’ll happen.”

“Mom, every parent has to make choices like this once in a while. But as soon as the case is closed I’ll take her with me on a special outing. We can trailer the horses down to the
bosque
and go for a ride there. I know she’ll love that.”

“Do everyone a favor, daughter,” Rose snapped. “Don’t tell her your plans until you’ve got the horses inside the trailer, the phone turned off,
and you’re ready to go.”

Rose’s words coiled around her painfully, like barbed wire stretched over bare skin. Her mom was overreacting, but there was no sense in arguing with someone who’d already made up their mind. Before she could respond, Rose continued.

“Eventually you’ll have to decide where your priorities lie, daughter. Just hope it won’t be too late.”

“Mom, that’s
not
fair! You didn’t
attend every school event I had when I was growing up, remember? Conflicts are part of family life, and I never held them against
you
. If my daughter had an
emergency, I’d turn the case over to Justine and be done with it,” she said, hurt and doing what she did instinctively under those circumstances—fight back.