Black Thunder (7 page)

The
kinaaldá
was meant to help young girls understand more about family responsibilities and the demands life would make on them in the future. Ella had left the decision whether to have the ceremony or not up to her daughter, just as her father had insisted that Ella be given the freedom to choose for herself when she’d been young.

Dawn had eventually decided that since none of her friends was going to be doing that, and even Ella had opted out at her age, there was no reason for her to go through the ceremony either. Certainly for most Navajos times had changed, along with the role of women in their families.

Ella hadn’t pushed, but the news had clearly hit Rose hard. After convincing herself that her granddaughter would
choose to follow tradition, she’d secretly preordered a ceremonial rug dress for Dawn, an essential ritual garment. When Ella had found out, she’d wanted to tell Dawn, but Rose had asked her not to do that. Ella knew that Rose was still hoping Dawn would change her mind on her own and have the ceremony.

As Ella continued to speculate about what was troubling Rose, a gunshot reverberated in the
air. It was much louder than she’d expected. The Hogback had actually amplified the sound.

She now had her answer. The sound had been thunderous and unmistakable, and since no one had reported it, a silencer must have been used. The presence of the bullets adjacent to the wound sites contradicted the possibility that they could have been shot elsewhere.

Justine arrived a few minutes later, bringing
a spare vest from the crime scene van. It was too big, but Ella put it on anyway and got into the SUV. They headed toward the house she’d noticed while waiting for the gunshot test. The access road ran east and west, not along the cliff, so it took a while to get there. Eventually, they found the right lane between two blue-green, knee-high alfalfa fields that looked ready to cut.

“Keep your
eyes and ears open,” Ella said. “Although this area has been searched already, we still don’t have any idea where the shooter went.”

On the way there, Ella called dispatch to see if they could ID the resident. The reply came in a matter of seconds. “Mr. Willard Pete lives there. He calls the station at least once a month to report skinwalkers.”

Ella racked the mike then looked at Justine. “The
patrolmen who responded probably concluded that he was a crackpot. But from what we’ve discovered today, I’m wondering if there might have been more to what he saw.”

As they drove closer to the house, they noticed the hogan in the back. The path leading to it was cleared of weeds and grass. “It looks like Mr. Pete’s a Traditionalist,” Justine said.

“So we’d better wait in the car until we’re
invited in,” Ella answered.

It took a full twenty minutes, and it was dark outside before an elderly man turned on his porch light and stepped out. He looked at the car, noting the antennae and lights, then waved for them to approach.

As they reached the door, Mr. Pete glanced at Justine and Ella’s medicine pouches, then looked back at Ella. “I’ve seen your photo in the paper. You’re the
hataalii’s
sister.”

“And this is our second cousin,” Ella said, nodding toward Justine. “We need your help, Uncle,” she added, using the term out of respect.

“Is this about the…” He peered into the shadows, searching for trouble. “Skinwalkers?” he finally whispered, knowing that to say the name too loud might summon the evil ones. “I’ve been watching the activity over there all day,” he motioned with his
hand toward the crime scene. “And a while ago deputies were driving up and down the roads, looking for somebody. One Navajo officer, a sergeant built like a bear, came up and asked me if I’d seen any strangers. Only cop cars, I said. Then I told him about the skinwalkers, and he left right after that. Then a little while ago I heard a gunshot.”

“We’re investigating several serious crimes, and
I’d like to talk to you about the things you’ve seen and heard,” Ella said.

He led them to the hogan, not the house, brushed aside the heavy blanket that covered the east-facing entrance, and reached for a battery-powered lantern. Once it was on, they could see the wood-and-coal stove in the center of the hexagonal room. The pipe extended through the log ceiling, but was well insulated to avoid
a fire hazard. Although it was still warm outside, the interior was cool. Sheepskin rugs were scattered on the floor, and he gestured an invitation for them to sit.

As was customary, Ella stepped to the right and took the seat on the north side, reserved for women, married or not. Justine sat next to her. Mr. Pete sat on the south, which signified that he was unmarried. Heads of family usually
sat to the west, facing the entrance.

Ella waited for him to begin.

“Some nights I hear wild animals roaming around outside near the house. We don’t have bears and wolves this far from the mountains, so that means the evil ones have claimed this area.”

He lapsed into a long silence, but Ella didn’t interrupt. Long silences were commonplace among older Navajos.

“The police … they’re mostly
young Modernists, like that sergeant who came by earlier. They think I’m a crazy old man. But evil
is
out there,” he said.

“I agree, and it’s our job to deal with that. Tell me exactly what you’ve heard,” Ella asked.

He shuddered. “It started about a year ago. I saw a figure all hunched over and making animal sounds—grunts and groans, mostly. It was digging up something, I think, because I could
hear the regular thump of dirt hitting the ground. But I didn’t stick around. I slipped away as fast as I could, then ran the rest of the way home. Since then, I haven’t seen anything, but I hear them out there at night all the time. The police come, but they never find anything.”

Ella glanced at Justine, then back at Mr. Pete. “Uncle, can you show me where you saw that figure you spoke about?”

He left the hogan, led them halfway to his home, then pointed down toward the generator-powered lights that now illuminated the crime scene. “There, down where those police cars are, next to the fence and under the lights. That’s why I asked what was going on.”

“Tell me again what you saw,” Ella said, noting that the angle and elevation had given him a better view of the grave sites than she’d
expected. “Try to remember everything, even little details that don’t seem to matter much.”

“I don’t normally wander about after dark, but it was different that night,” he answered. “We’d been having some bad lightning storms so I’d made myself a couple of cattail leaf mats to keep my home and hogan safe from lightning. My friends had seen them and asked that I make one for them. I’d just finished
theirs that evening, and since it looked like we’d be in for another storm before morning, I decided to take it to them. On the way I saw … too much.”

“We need to know exactly what you saw, sir,” Ella insisted gently.

With a sigh of resignation, he answered. “My friends live on the east side, closer to the river where I gather the cattails. There’s a dirt pathway along the reservation boundary,
but the bushes along the trail are as tall as a man. That’s why I didn’t see it right away and got too close before I knew it.” He shuddered, remembering. “It was big and hunched over, low to the ground, with arms and legs. All the stories I’d ever heard about skinwalkers came rushing back to me. I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

“Was he wearing an animal skin?” Justine asked, trying to
rule out coyotes or runaway livestock.

“I couldn’t see clearly enough. The moon wasn’t out and it was cloudy, but I heard the noises it made. What else could it have been? So I went back home. I didn’t give my friends their mat until the next morning. Since then, I only go out during the day and I’ve kept a close eye on everything around here. No skinwalker’s gonna catch me by surprise again.”
He gestured with his chin to the rifle propped against the hogan wall.

“You say you only saw one figure?” Ella asked.

He took an unsteady breath. “There might have been another one around there. I’m not sure,” he said. “My eyes don’t work so good these days. I saw shadows and I felt … evil.”

“Have you ever heard gunshots around here before, like the one a while ago?”

He shook his head. “No,
and I listen carefully. My eyes may not work so good, but my ears are fine. And I know guns. I used to hunt a lot when lived over by Shoe Game Wash—that’s north of Beclabito.”

Ella smiled, recalling the area from her father’s tent revival days. He’d preached in that community on several occasions.

A few more minutes of silence went by, then he looked up at her. There were questions mirrored
in his eyes, but instead of voicing them, he stood.

Ella knew then that the interview was over. “Thank you for your time, Uncle.” Ella reached into her pocket for her business card. “Please call me if you hear, or see, anything unusual, or if you notice any strangers hanging around.”

He took the card. “I will.”

As they walked back toward their SUV, Ella could feel the man’s eyes still on them.
He had many questions but hadn’t spoken up. Words had power, so fear and silence often became allies here in the
Diné Bikéyah
.

SIX

Ella leaned back against the SUV’s headrest, squirming slightly from the sore muscles in her back. She still ached from the bullet impacts and knew she’d have fist-sized bruises there tomorrow morning. “You’ve worked with the county’s lab tech before haven’t you?” Ella asked.

“Many times,” Justine answered. “She’s good and will share whatever she gets quickly.”

“Good. Stay on things. Let
me know if the bullets found at the scene match the ones meant to take out the Bitsillie boy.”

“I’ll handle it,” Justine said. “Where to next?”

“I need to pay Carolyn a visit.”

“I have an idea. Why don’t I stay at the crime scene and help them wrap up while you take the SUV?”

“Sure, no problem,” Ella said knowing how much Justine hated the morgue.

Once they reached the crime scene, Ella stepped
out long enough to thank everyone still there for all their hard work. After bumming a couple of aspirins, she drove into town.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, it was dinnertime, but there was no way she could take a break now. She’d called home while en route, but the family wasn’t surprised she’d be late. Word of the grave sites had spread far and wide.

Ella parked in one of the police
slots beside the emergency room doors, then rode the elevator down to the basement. The morgue was out of the way and easily ignored by a busy hospital staff focused on life, not death.

As she walked down the silent corridor, Ella was once again struck by the stark loneliness of Carolyn’s job. The majority of Navajos avoided her because she had regular contact with the dead.

Seeing Ella, Carolyn
smiled and set down her coffee cup. “Good timing. I’m taking a break.” Carolyn went to her computer and called up the file she knew Ella wanted. “I’ve got preliminaries for you. The four victims were killed around a year apart. The most recent has been dead for about a year. The oldest, around four, naturally.”

“That’s a lot of time between killings,” Ella said, lost in thought.

Carolyn nodded.
“There’s more. I’m still waiting for DNA, but the most recent victims were probably Native American, and the victim killed two years ago was female.”

“So they’re not being targeted by sex,” Ella said, thinking out loud. “If it turns out that they’re all Navajo, maybe we’re dealing with a serial killer who’s targeting members of our tribe.”

“Most murders, statistically speaking, are committed
by others of the same ethnic background,” Carolyn said. “It’s who they hang out with.”

“Another interesting point,” Ella said softly. “Could you check the most recent body and see if it might be Chester Kelewood’s? It’s a long shot, but worth a try. He disappeared about a year ago.”

“I’ll get on that. Hopefully, dental records will exist somewhere,” Carolyn said, writing down the name.

Ella’s
phone rang and from the ring tone she knew it was her daughter.

“Hi sweetie,” Ella said, answering. “I’m busy right now. Is this important?”

“Kinda.
Shimasání
has made enough mutton stew for an army, Mom. She wants to know if you can bring your partner and a few others for a late supper.” Dawn lowered her voice. “
Shimá
, please bring them.
Shimasání
won’t throw anything out, and I don’t want
to be eating mutton stew for a week!”

Ella bit her lip to keep from laughing. Her daughter
hated
mutton stew. Ella suspected it was because she’d entered that rebellious stage when less nutritious meals like pizza tasted far better, even for breakfast.

“I probably won’t get home for a while, kiddo, but I’ll see what I can do.” Folding up the phone, she looked back at Carolyn and filled her in.

“Mutton stew?” Carolyn asked, a dreamy smile on her face.

“Yeah. Apparently Mom’s on another cooking binge. Dawn wants me to bring people over so there won’t be any leftovers.”

“I wish I wasn’t on a diet. I’d kill for mutton stew,” Carolyn said. “But what’s with Rose?”

“I have no idea what’s going on with Mom. She’s been acting … weird.”

“What’s happening in her life—or not happening?”

“My
daughter doesn’t want a
kinaaldá
, but I don’t think that’s entirely it. There’s something else.…” She shook her head and shrugged.

“Rose is an adult. Don’t push her. She’ll talk to you when she’s ready.” Carolyn watched Ella fidget in her chair for a moment. “What’s up with you? You’re not moving right. Did you hurt yourself?”

When Ella told her what had happened, Carolyn insisted on checking
her over.

Ella left some time later, assured that she was fine, except for some bruising. As she drove back to the station, her thoughts remained centered on the case. A serial killer on the Rez … She didn’t like this at all. Hard times lay ahead—for all of them.

*   *   *

Ella sat in her office, her team seated wherever they could find room. Dwayne Blalock had begged off, going instead to
brief the Farmington Police Department’s chief of detectives.