Mourning Dove (8 page)

“And you’ve got Rose and Boots helping you with Dawn, so you’ve got backup at home, too. I’m sure that’s a huge help.”

Ella leaned back in her chair and nodded
pensively. “So far so good, but Mom has her own life. I’ve been getting the feeling that things are getting serious between her and Herman. It wouldn’t
surprise me if Mom decided to marry him one day,” she said, then added, “In a lot of ways Mom’s life is more black and white than mine.”

“Do I hear a touch of envy?” Carolyn teased.

“Yeah, maybe a bit.” Ella thought about how differently she
and her mother had handled being widowed. While she had jumped into college, then a law enforcement career, Rose had gone back to mothering her, then Dawn, staying mostly at home. Now, Rose was working for the tribe as a plant consultant, dating, and looking forward to marriage. Since her breakup with Harry Ute, who was now married to an Albuquerque woman, Ella hadn’t had an official date in, perhaps,
two years.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you, Ella? Hey, you’re still young. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life single, then you better start doing something about it. The older you get, the harder it is to adapt to someone else. And the more selfish you get, too,” she added with a tiny smile. “I know firsthand. The more set in your ways you become, the less willing you are
to sacrifice anything at the altar of love.”

Ella nodded as she and Carolyn finished lunch and cleaned up the wrappers, tossing them into the trash along with the newspaper tablecloth. “I hear you. Thing is, I still have feelings for Kevin. But it’s not really love, it’s more like . . . echoes of what might have been.”

“Do you want more children?” Carolyn asked.

Ella smiled. Carolyn always
had a way of reading her unspoken thoughts. She took a deep breath before answering. “I love Dawn so much, it scares me sometimes. I can’t imagine being able to love another child as much as I do her. But a part of me still wishes I had more kids, regular hours, a husband, the whole nine yards. The problem is everything in life carries a price. To have all that, I’d have to give up other things I
love. The Navajo Way is right—everything has two sides. All things considered, I’ve decided to just hang on to what I’ve got.”

Carolyn’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something else you’re not saying. . . .”

Ella laughed. “If you get tired of being a pathologist, become a P.I. You’d be great.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Ella stared at her hands for a moment. “The problem is time—it doesn’t
stand still. I can’t keep Dawn with me forever. She’ll leave me to chase her own dreams someday, probably a lot sooner than I’d like if her independent streak is any indication. When that time comes, it’ll be just me and my work. That’s a reality that makes me reassess my life a lot more than I should.”

“Have you considered going out more—meeting new men—when you’re not working a case?”

“I .
. . yeah, I considered it—considered it crap,” Ella said, laughing. “I’m closer to forty than thirty now, and there are still unattached men out there—good ones. But I refuse to go hunting for a mate like it’s some kind of mission I have to complete. If it happens at all, let it be because fate or chance intervened, not because I was sorting through them like at a clothing rack full of cozy sweaters.
That’s my only illusion when it comes to romance, by the way. People who think that values, outlooks, and common goals don’t matter, wake up to a mess as soon as the stars stop shining in their eyes.”

“Where were you and your philosophy when I met Michael?” Carolyn muttered with a sad smile, then shook her head. “Enough of this. Let’s talk shop. It’s simpler and doesn’t give us nearly as many
headaches . . . or heartaches.” Carolyn poured herself another cup of coffee, then wiggled the pot at Ella, who shook her head.

“I told you about the traces of gunpowder residue on the victim’s hand. Judging from the amount, he got off several shots.”

Ella shook her head in exasperation. “Why didn’t he turn over the car keys! It was just a rental, for Pete’s sake. What a waste.”

“
You
would
have fought back too—just on principle,” Carolyn observed.

The thought made Ella pause. “Yeah, before I became a mom I probably would have. What the hay, even these days I would have had to force myself not to react. Reacting’s easier in a lot of ways—more natural.”

“For a warrior, not a civilian. I’d have given them the car, the keys, my credit cards, and my shoes just to get them out of my
face.”

Ella laughed. “Yeah, but listen to yourself. You would have
given
them your car. Ultimately, you would have made it your choice.”

Carolyn smiled. “Different points of view but, you’ve got to admit, mine has definite advantages.” She glanced down at her report and continued in a somber tone. “The victim went down hard. Most of his wounds weren’t lethal, but once he was incapacitated—out
of ammo, or whatever—his killer came up and fired twice at point-blank range.”

Carolyn glanced up at Ella who nodded, then continued. “There’s one curious thing. I found evidence that the victim had been in the water recently—probably less than a half hour prior to his death—but he used no soap. Didn’t have any scent traces of that. And no scent or evidence of chlorine on his skin either, as
in a public pool or with treated water. If anything, he smelled more like—river or ditch water, if that makes any sense.”

“Well, he never made it home, so we can rule out the shower angle right away. Maybe he stopped somewhere beside the road earlier and fell in the river or a ditch, then dried off and put on a new set of clothes. But that sounds pretty unusual. I’m reaching here, obviously.
Still, if you find anything else the least bit out of line once you finish the screens for drugs and the rest, call and let me know. Big Ed wants a quick wrap up on this, so don’t wait for the paperwork. Pick up the phone.”

“You’ve got it. And, Ella, I hate to eat and run, but today looks
like it’s going to be a long one for both of us. We’ve got to get back to it. But hey, let’s get together
for lunch sometime soon again. On me, next time. I can bring something from home.”

Carolyn loved to cook—and she was very good at it. But because of what she did for a living, there weren’t many who wanted to share a meal with her. “Call me anytime,” Ella said.

As Ella walked out of the hospital and her friend’s domain she thought about their lives. In certain ways they were vastly different,
but they were kindred spirits when it came to their dedication to the work they’d chosen and the tribe they served.

Ella drove back to her brother’s and pulled up in front of his hogan, noting the other vehicle by the corral, a flatbed truck with high wooden sides. She intended to wait in the SUV for an invitation to approach as was customary but, as she turned off the ignition, she heard a sharp
whistle and saw her brother waving at her from the bed of the truck. Clifford and another man she didn’t recognize appeared to be unloading metal fence sections.

Ella went over to join them, her eyes on the man working with Clifford. He walked with a very pronounced limp, but it didn’t seem to keep him from doing his share of the unloading. Seeing a cane propped against the truck, she jogged
forward.

“Let me take one end,” she said, reaching for the opposite end of the eight-foot section of metal fencing he was carrying.

“I’ve got this one. Grab one off the truck if you want to help,” he snapped. His tone was sharp.

Ella glanced at him quickly, surprised. He was a solid, muscular man with empty black eyes. It was the look she’d heard referred to before as the one-hundred-yard stare.
A gaze that saw everything . . . and nothing, like an old man who knew he was dying and had stopped caring a long time ago.

“Sure. But I would have much rather shared a load than carry one on my own,” she added with a grin.

He was impervious to her. “That’s you, not me.” Then as the
wind brushed back her jacket, he saw her sidearm. “Cop, huh? You need a pistol to unload a truck?”

“I’m on duty,”
she snapped back.

Clifford came back from where he was stacking the fencing beside the corral, sliding another length from the truck. “I see you’ve met,” he said, after the other man moved away with is load.

“Rude jerk,” she mumbled.

Although her voice had barely been above a whisper, somehow he’d managed to hear her. “I usually am,” he called back at her. “I never get on well with people who
think they deserve something simply because they carry a badge.”

Ella clamped her jaw shut but, try as she did, she couldn’t let it pass. “You mean like the right to defend themselves when confronting armed criminals?” She wanted to thump him on the head with his cane.

“I respect what you
try
to do—keep the peace. But you lose the second you strap on a gun. The Anglo way of meeting violence
with violence does little to solve the problem.”

“Most Navajos—cops included—are killed by other Navajos. What do you think we should do?”

“Let the tribe handle it. Word of mouth will identify the criminal and then we can take care of it the old way.”

As her brother took the last fence section to where the others were stacked, Ella met the man’s gaze, wondering what fairy tale he’d just escaped
from. “I’m Ella Clah of the Navajo Tribal Police. And you are?”

“Lewis Water,” he said, challenging her by holding the gaze. “What you do has some merit, don’t get me wrong. I learned about meeting force with force in the Guard. But the old ways would work better here than Anglo-type law.”

“If you’re such a traditionalist, what on earth were you doing in the service?” she asked, intrigued.

“I was working several jobs trying to save enough money to
open my own trucking firm when I learned about the enlistment bonus the Guard offered. Signing up seemed like a good idea—until one day when the truck I was in hit a roadside bomb. After that, I was shipped stateside. The doctors did as much as they could, but I still lost my leg. That was a year ago. I used all my money to buy a modified
truck with hand controls. I have my own company now and, when I raise enough cash, I’ll buy a bigger rig and get that modified, too.”

She nodded slowly, beginning to understand his distaste for weapons.

As Clifford joined them, Ella looked over at her brother. “Have you thought any more about the Navajo code the police informant sent me?” Ella had come up with a plan. The way she’d figured it,
if she asked Lewis directly, he’d probably refuse to help her. But if she got him interested before he even realized that she needed his help, she’d have a better chance.

Clifford nodded, then guessing her plan, added, “I suspect it’s a code where symbols are used to designate real things—a bit like the one our Codetalkers used in World War Two. They spoke in Navajo and assigned Navajo names
for things like tanks, artillery, and so on. I think they gave the Navajo word for turtle to signify a tank—stuff like that. It’s the reason the code couldn’t be broken—except by another Navajo who was acquainted with the language and strategy.”

“My great-grandfather was a Codetalker. We’d talk about his service now and then. Maybe I can help,” Lewis said. Curiosity flickered in his eyes, and
his voice had lost its attitude.

Ella had the papers folded in half longways, attached with a paper clip, and brought them out of her coat pocket. She looked at Clifford first, and waited for him to nod before handing them to Lewis—all part of showing a little phony reluctance, to further heighten his interest. “This came from a former GI who served in Iraq, but does this bear any resemblance
to the code the World War Two guys used?”

He studied it for several long moments. “I don’t see any parallel terms here, so it looks like the writer of the story invented his own code using everyday objects and even some Anglo names for the characters.”

“If there was a code in here and you needed to break it, how would you go about it?”

“I’d talk to other Navajos who know him—try to figure out
how his mind works and which characters, names, and symbols might have had double meanings for him. That’s your best shot.”

Ella nodded. He’d echoed the unspoken thought in her mind. Without the key, she had nothing.

O
nce she was on the road back to town, Ella called Justine. “Check any houses or businesses close to the river or near irrigation ditches on Jimmy’s likely route and see if anyone remembers someone going into the water earlier this morning. Jimmy got wet, then dried off not long before he was attacked, so this may provide a clue to his whereabouts prior to his
death.”

“Maybe he took a late shower at a motel close by.”

“If he did, there was no evidence of soap, and he smelled more like river water, according to the M.E. But check motels and hotels anyway.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Anything new I should know about?” Ella asked at last.

“No, nothing,” Justine answered. “I’m looking over all the previous carjacking incident reports now and trying to figure
out why this one escalated the way it did.”