Wind Spirit [Ella Clah 10] (7 page)

He cringed visibly at the word “skinwalkers” and she thought for a second he was going to jump into the truck and take off right then. But he managed to recover his composure almost immediately.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Investigator Clah. I was just trying to catch up to you so I could help out. Maybe take one direction and you take the other. I’d seen you pass by a while ago, recognized who you were, and decided to join your effort. I guess I should have honked the horn or waved.”

At best it was a thin explanation, considering she’d also pulled off the road before reaching Beclabito. She said nothing, and waited him out.

“I figured you’d welcome the help,” he added. The professor was either a con man, a very good actor, or he sincerely believed she was dangerous.

Ella held his gaze. “Following a police officer is a risky step to take. An action like that can be easily misinterpreted so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop. If you happen to find out where the Singer is, and you really want to help, just give me a call and I’ll follow it through.”

“I’m sorry if I set off any law enforcement alarm signals.”
His eyes shifted away from hers as the cell phone she’d left inside her unit started to ring. Slowly a look of stunned surprise spread over his face and he took a quick step onto the running board of his truck.

Puzzled, Ella glanced at the side of her SUV as she stepped toward the door. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s just—”

“Hold that thought. I have to get this first,” Ella interrupted. As she swung the door open and reached for the cell phone on the seat, she heard a low hiss. The SUV suddenly sagged toward her and almost instantaneously she heard a loud pop just to her left. Ella jumped back and saw that her left front tire was rapidly going flat.

Ignoring the cell phone now, she stared at the tire. There was a big hole in the side just above the tread where air was hissing out. Ella crouched down and inspected the tire, then she looked around where she’d just driven her vehicle. There was nothing jagged around that could have poked such a hole.

“How did that happen?” she muttered.

Garnenez pointed toward something on the ground and she saw a large pointed screw probably four inches long halfway buried in the sand.

“When the phone rang I looked over at your vehicle and noticed that lag bolt sticking out of the side of your tire. Then, when you went to answer the phone, it suddenly popped out and landed way over there,” he answered, then slowly added, “You’re extremely lucky, you know. I can’t figure out how that stayed in the sidewall of your tire without giving you a flat long before now—especially driving out here in this terrain. You have a spare and a jack, don’t you?”

“Yes, but the jack is one of those generic ones that doesn’t really work well on soft ground. Could you give me a ride back to the trading post? I’ll hire their mechanic to come back
here in the wrecker and change it for me using safer equipment.”

“You want to ride in
my
truck?” His mouth dropped open. “Why don’t you let me stop by the trading post on my way back to town and send the wrecker for you?”

Ella nodded. He was obviously worried about her, and pushing things wouldn’t help. “Never mind. I’ll use my cell phone.”

Before she could say anything else, he climbed into his pickup and drove off. As he sped away, Ella tried to figure him out. He hadn’t really been trying to help her, not judging from the way he’d behaved. Garnenez had been trying to catch her consorting with skinwalkers so he could . . . what? Maybe he wanted to get her off the police force, or shunned, or worse. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Janet had told her how the new traditionalists would react to her, and his behavior meshed perfectly with what she’d said.

Deciding not to wait for a wrecker since it would undoubtedly take more time than she wanted to spend out here, Ella searched until she found a large flat rock, then placed it beneath the narrow jack base to give it more stability. Then she carefully jacked up the SUV and put on the spare. As she got under way, her cell phone rang again. Rose barely gave her a chance to identify herself. “Some TV reporters are here,” she said in a rush. “Apparently, they weren’t allowed in the hospital yesterday so when they learned you’d checked yourself out this morning they came straight to our home. They want to interview you. They already tried to talk to your daughter, but I pulled her inside.”

“Tell them to leave,” Ella said. She had no love for reporters.

“If you don’t talk to them here, they’ll hunt you down at your office.”

“Better there than at home. I don’t want them around my
child.” Ella knew successful reporters were persistent. They probably wouldn’t give up until they spoke to her, but her family deserved a home where beauty and harmony prevailed, and all this attention would bring neither. “Tell them I’ll meet them out in the police station parking lot in two hours.”

Ella hung up, then called Big Ed. Although she thought he’d approve of her decision, it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

When Ella arrived camera crews were gathered beside the building, along with two officers obviously stationed there to keep an eye on everyone. In all her years as an officer she’d yet to see either the press or media make her life easier. This time, depending on how things went, they had the power to make things spectacularly worse.

Despite having time to prepare herself mentally, Ella still had butterflies in her stomach as she pulled up into a parking space. People with cameras immediately began moving in her direction, and as she stepped out of the car, they began firing questions. She closed the door, standing with the vehicle at her back.

“Do you think God brought you back from the grave because you saved the life of a child?” a fast-talking blond Anglo reporter asked, cutting off a tall, skinny man while shoving a microphone toward her.

Ella saw the call letters of one of the Albuquerque television stations on the mike and recognized the woman from recent broadcasts. “Obviously I was never dead. That condition, I believe, is extremely permanent. I got banged up and covered with sand after falling into a mine shaft. Then I passed out, but they obviously dug me up in time. That’s it.”
She hoped to dispel any other potential troublemakers like Professor Garnenez who’d think of her as the undead, or worse.

“You saved the life of a
hataalii
’s son, your nephew, is that right?” another reporter asked before the first reporter could follow up.

“Yes. I got lucky and was able to reach him before he fell through some old boards into the mine shaft. But then I got unlucky and fell in myself.”

“The EMTs had stopped trying to revive you—and had even covered up your body—when you suddenly sat up again,” the first reporter asked quickly, refusing to be deterred. “How do you explain the fact that you’re here now with not even a bruise on you?”

“Being a police officer means having a thick hide,” Ella quipped. She had bruises and sores, just none that she would show in public. “My rescuers did a magnificent job, though. They should be getting the attention, not me.”

The reporter wasn’t dissuaded. “According to other Navajos I’ve spoken with, you’ll now need to have a special ceremony done before anyone will feel safe around you since you came so close to death. What do you say to that?”

“I’m not going to stand here and explain my Navajo beliefs in front of the cameras, and I’m certainly not going to speak for other Navajos. It’s not our way.”

“Have you learned anything from this experience that you’d like to share with us?” A third reporter, a stocky black man she recognized from the cable channel, managed to get his question in above the confusion.

“Yes, this taught me something very important.” She paused, and a half-dozen microphones came forward, jockeying for position. Ella smiled at the reporters’ anticipation. “Be more careful where you step.”

Several reporters laughed.

“You weren’t breathing, and your heart had stopped
when they finally pulled you out. Did you have an NDE, a Near Death Experience?” a dark-haired woman reporter standing atop a concrete barrier shouted out.

“I did think I was going to die at one point and that was quite an experience, but somehow I don’t think that’s what you meant.” She held up one hand, ignoring other questions shouted at her, and began moving toward the front entrance to the station. “That’s all I’ve got to say on the subject, so if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to go earn my living.”

She brushed past those who followed and slipped inside the station lobby. The two officers who’d been outside with her blocked the remaining reporters, turning them away from the door.

Ella thanked the officers, then headed toward the hall and her office.

Big Ed met Ella as she passed the lunchroom. “It seems you’ve become a celebrity,” he said, then smiled. “Keep this up and we’ll need a press room.”

Aware that some of the officers were staring at her, Ella slid her medicine pouch to the front of her belt, keeping it in plain view. Since not many cops were traditionalists, it would simply be seen as a sign of respect. “Chief, can I speak to you in private?”

“Of course.”

Ella walked with him to his office, then shut the door behind them. “I ducked some of the reporters’ questions. I had to, and I’m hoping they’ll go away for good now, but sometimes that just makes them more determined to get answers. In that respect, I may have just blown it.”

“For now, you’re news. People are curious to know exactly what you went through. If you say nothing, everyone will speculate and that’ll end up making you even more interesting to them.”

“I can’t win.” Ella explained about Garnenez following her, what had happened, and his obvious concern that she
was about to ally herself with skinwalkers. When she mentioned him using the obsidian instead of flint for protection, he chuckled.

“Garnenez is said to be a new traditionalist zealot and gossip passes quickly across the college campus. Yet I’m still surprised how fast this kind of reaction has surfaced. It looks like you’re going to be facing this kind of problem until people’s minds are changed,” he said and shook his head slowly. “But if anyone interferes with you in any way, bring them in. You don’t have to put up with any harassment.”

“I appreciate your support. Hopefully having that Sing will make the difference.”

When the chief’s phone rang, Ella stood up and started to leave, but as she reached the door, he called out to her. “Wait.”

Ella returned to her chair and sat down. Something important was brewing.

“The fire department is there now?” Big Ed asked, then paused and listened. “What makes them think it’s arson?” he added after a beat.

Ella leaned forward, curious, but she couldn’t make out the voice at the other end. By the time the chief hung up she was eager to hear the entire story.

“I just spoke to Louise Sorrelhorse,” he said. “She’s the caregiver for Councilman Hunt’s wife. When she arrived for work at the Hunt residence in Waterflow it was engulfed in flames. Neighbors had already called the fire department and the Kirtland trucks arrived within fifteen minutes, but Louise believes that Arlene Hunt was inside. There’s no sign of the woman now. Mrs. Hunt requires a wheelchair so that might be part of the reason she wasn’t able to get out.”

“Has the fire crew confirmed that there’s someone trapped in the house?”

“No. They haven’t been able to get inside the house yet. And, from the looks of it, it’s shaping up to be arson. Louise
overheard Kenneth Curley, the new fire chief, saying that they’d found a hot spot beneath a broken window and some of the firemen detected the smell of gasoline. It looks like your time off just came to an end. Sorry. Get over there and find out what’s going on.”

“I’m on my way,” Ella said, standing up.

“Mr. Hunt is a councilman, so he’s going to want answers quickly. He’s also an unpleasant man at the best of times, a real manipulator and wheeler-dealer. So even if we all get lucky and Mrs. Hunt turns up someplace else unharmed, we can count on Hunt second-guessing us every step of this investigation. Start by thinking up possible motives for arson and work from there. And see if you can find anyone hanging around, rubbernecking. You know what they say, sometimes firebugs show up to watch their handiwork.”

Ella remembered her conversation with Janet. “I already know of one potential motive, Chief. Councilman Hunt’s stand on gun registration is not very popular.”