Turquoise Girl (3 page)

Ella moved to the side of the
bed to take a better look at the victim’s face. “I know—knew her,” she said, feeling as if someone had just knocked the wind out of her.

Though her nose had been broken, and possibly some facial bones as well, Ella recognized Valerie Tso. Her daughter Boots—Jennifer—was Dawn’s babysitter. Deep cuts and bruises covered her naked arms, but she’d been dressed in her Sunday best. Her clothes were
clean and undamaged and the absence of blood around her facial cuts told Ella that Valerie had been dressed after her death—once her body had finished bleeding out.

Blocking the emotions running through her, Ella looked for defensive wounds on the body—torn fingernails and bruises on her hands. She was surprised to find only a few cuts on her palms and fingers, ones she might have easily inflicted
on herself as she tried to rise off a floor littered with broken glass. Finally, she examined the note that had been left on top of the Bible.

“‘The Lord has made all things for himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil. Proverbs 16:4,’” Ella read out loud without touching it. “If you’ve got enough photos now, bag and tag this, partner. Maybe the killer left us more than he intended.”

Justine had already returned her camera to its storage bag. She placed the note in a transparent evidence pouch, then held it up and studied it for a moment. “What the heck is it supposed to mean? God made the wicked for a reason?”

“I’m sure there are numerous interpretations. Maybe the perp was using Scripture to justify his own actions.” The scriptural passage teased her memory, but she couldn’t
quite get a handle on where she’d heard it before. From her father? He’d been a preacher…. Yet she was sure it hadn’t been one of his favorite or often mentioned quotes. Her father had preferred to emphasize hope, faith, and good works rather than punishment and retribution.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind for now, Ella looked around. “I don’t see any paper or pens around that might have
been used to write the note, do you?” Ella asked, searching.

“No, not in the bedroom,” Justine answered, bringing out the camera again to take more photos of the cleaned-up sections on the worn carpet. “It’s interesting that the killer didn’t just pose the body, he also tried to clean the immediate area up a bit, too. The only part of this room that’s not a mess is within four or five feet of
the victim.”

Ella saw the dried blood on the broken mirror and on the pieces of glass that lay scattered on the floor. Streaks showed where the killer had pushed some of the pieces out of the clean zone, probably with his foot. There was even some blood splattered on the ceiling. “Maybe the blood’s not all hers. She may have taken a chunk out of her killer,” Ella said, then took a deep, steadying
breath.

“Hey, you okay?” Justine asked.

Ella nodded. “According to what I’ve heard, mostly from my mother, the victim worked here at the diner and got free rent. She was just starting to get her life together again and was hoping to patch things up with her daughter.”

“Your mother’s best friend is the victim’s mother, isn’t she?” Justine asked.

Ella nodded. “And my mother will be right beside
the victim’s family, demanding answers, when she finds out what happened. This won’t be just another case. It hit too close to home. This one’s personal.” Valerie Tso’s life had ended, but Ella’s work was just beginning.

Ella waited as Dr. Carolyn Roanhorse studied the body, then began the task of bagging the victim’s hands. “She’s been dead for about four hours, give or take—a wide range. The body’s muscles are starting to stiffen a bit now, suggesting the onset of rigor mortis. But the amount of work the muscles did before death can throw
that off. The body temperature is in a range that supports my general estimate, too, but that reading would be affected by the amount of time the body remained in cold water. The perp must have worked hard to put her in this position, though. Notice that the bed itself is propping her up. And take a look at this.”

Carolyn lifted the body up a few inches, and Ella could see a shoestring attached
to the victim’s collar, then to the mattress frame.

“Kept her from falling back, or to the side,” Ella observed.

“The lividity, the discoloration of the body—pink as you can see in areas where her clothes are still wet—means the perpetrator didn’t bother drying her off before dressing her. That cooled her body, too, as well. So the time of death is still shaky, thought I’d say anywhere from
two to maybe five hours ago is a fair estimate. I’ll try to narrow it down a bit more for you when I do the autopsy.”

“The bathtub’s full. She may have been drowned….” Ella said.

“If she was alive when she was put in the tub, I’ll know when I examine the body back at the morgue. But considering the punctures on her hands and slashes on her wrists, with pieces of glass still imbedded there,
I would have expected to see more blood in the tub. I took a look.”

“There’s still a lot of blood around, but not on her….” Ella observed.

“He may have changed her clothing, or dressed her, after the body bled out,” Carolyn answered.

“That never ceases to amaze me. You can be dead and still bleed for a while,” Ella said.

“Thirty to sixty minutes after death, the blood becomes in-coagulable.
Fibrinolysins do the job.” Carolyn’s gaze was focused solely on the body. “I’ll have a cause of death to you by tomorrow.”

Before Ella could move away, Carolyn spoke again. “Neskahi around?”

Ella nodded. “He’s in one of the other rooms. We needed a full team on this one.”

“Get him.”

Ella sighed. Joe had made an unthinking remark about Carolyn’s weight about two years ago and since that time,
Carolyn had made it her mission to see that he continued to pay the price. He was now her body-mover of choice. Knowing the futility of arguing with her about this, Ella nodded. “I’ll go get him.”

As Ella passed by the living room, Justine glanced up from where she was crouched gathering fibers and hair. “I found the victim’s purse on the floor in the kitchenette,” she told Ella. “All her money
is gone—including any change she might have had. I sent Joe to check and see if the diner had also had a break-in, but Joe found no signs of forced entry.”

“This may have started as a burglary or home invasion before it escalated to murder. But how either of those fit in with the biblical quote is beyond me at the moment,” Ella said.

“I still haven’t found any paper that matches the type used
for the note, nor have I seen a pen lying around anywhere. There’s a pencil on the kitchen counter, but that’s it, so far.”

Ella looked around. “Where’s Joe?”

Justine gestured toward the door. “Outside, checking the victim’s car, the trash, and the grounds for evidence.”

Ella stepped outside and, seeing her, Sergeant Neskahi nodded glumly and went inside. No explanation had been necessary.

Ella’s phone rang just then. One look at the caller ID told her it was Agent Blalock. Ella greeted the Bureau man, then gave him a thumbnail sketch of their initial findings.

“As soon as I get back, in about five hours give or take, I’ll access databases and see if there’s a similar MO on file somewhere. In the meantime, if you get any leads, call me. I’ll be out of range at times, but leave a
message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“See you in a few hours then.”

Ella helped her team collect evidence a while longer, then turned things over to Justine. Aware of how quickly news traveled on the reservation, it was imperative she go see Lena Clani and tell her about her daughter’s murder before anyone else did. On the way, for purely practical reasons, she’d stop and break
the news to her mom. Her mother’s presence at Lena’s home would help while Ella questioned Lena.

These days Rose was staying at Herman’s house, ten minutes east of Shiprock. After telling Justine how to get hold of her, Ella set out, glad that the short drive would give her time to think.

The facts were a chaotic blend of information points that had yet to make sense. But it was her job to find
the pattern to restore order and harmony.

There’d been a time when she would have seen the case as just a matter of doing her job—of giving the taxpayers their money’s worth. But her work here on the reservation was far more than that. She genuinely loved the land between the sacred mountains and wanted to protect it. This was her daughter’s legacy.

Ella arrived at Herman’s, or
Bizaadii
’s as
her mother had nicknamed him. It meant “the gabby one.” It had been her mother’s way of teasing, since Herman was a man of few words.

Herman’s house, down in the former floodplain of the river, had been more carefully planned and constructed than many Navajo homes. It was set on higher ground in the middle of two fenced-in acres of fine sediment and sand. In the moonlight, Ella could see a dozen
sheep grazing peacefully in one of the far corners where the vegetation was tallest.

When Herman left, his nephew Philip was going to move in. Philip Cloud was engaged to a young traditionalist woman who was already a talented weaver. The sheep would supply most of the wool needed.

Ella was just getting out of the tribal unit when she noticed her mother and Two, her shaggy old dog, returning
from a walk down by the river. Sometimes when Rose couldn’t sleep, she’d go out and enjoy the evening air, wandering far from the house. It was a practice Ella had never liked, and that was especially so in this more populated area closer to town. It just wasn’t safe, not with active gangs and crime on the rise on the Rez.

Rose, who’d obviously seen her headlights, came over immediately. “I just
finished my evening walk. I know you don’t like my wandering around like this, but I’m safe,” she added, reaching down to pet her faithful companion.

Ella started to argue then shook her head. That would wait for another time. Right now there was a more pressing matter. Ella searched her mind for the best way to begin but there didn’t seem to be any right words.

“Something’s happened, daughter,”
Rose said quickly. “I can see it on your face. Is it your daughter, or your brother, or his family?”

“No, they’re all safe,” Ella reassured her quickly. “But I need your help passing along some really bad news to a friend.”

Hearing an owl’s mournful cry somewhere nearby, Rose shuddered. “Let’s go inside the house. Owls are spies for evil spirits. We can sit in the kitchen and have some tea while
we talk.”

Tea, her mother’s special blend, was a mellow tasting mixture of orange and spices that soothed and warmed at the same time. On a night like this one, it was exactly what they both needed.

Herman’s home was sparsely decorated. Only one couch and a chair provided seating in the living area and both had been placed near the wood-burning stove. There was a shelf full of books, a floor
lamp, and that was pretty much it. Ella followed her mother into the small kitchen, glancing around for Herman.

While Rose poured water into the tea kettle, Ella paused, wondering how to begin.

“My husband’s asleep, so speak softly,” Rose said, quietly moving about the kitchen, reaching for the tea, cups, and napkins. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

Ella knew that her mother preferred to be given
bad news while she was busy. It was her way of coping, of relying on the comfort of familiar routines to offset the disharmony that bad news brought.

“The daughter of your best friend is dead,” she said, avoiding the use of names in front of her traditionalist mother. Though Ella’s message had been cryptic, no further explanation had been needed. Lena and Rose were as close as sisters. They’d
shared a lifetime of friendship, of births and deaths, and everything in between.

Rose paused for a second as she poured the tea but then continued. “That one has been dead to her mother for a long time,” she answered in a sorrowful voice. “Her drinking, all the men…” Rose shook her head. “She broke her mother’s heart.”

“What can you tell me about her?” Ella took an offered cup of tea.

“She
was married at least three times, no, four, I think, and she pretty much abandoned her only child. She had a very serious alcohol problem for most of her life, then a year ago, it almost killed her. She was ordered by the courts to go into a rehab program and, after that, it looked like she was finally changing her life around. She went back to school, received some business training, then got a
job at the Morning Stop Café working behind the counter and keeping the books. She wanted to use that employment experience to lead to a better job soon, maybe at one of the Farmington restaurants.”

“How do you know all this?” Ella asked. “I thought you said her mother had given up on her?”

“She did. We never spoke about her. It was Boots who’d often tell me about her mother, mostly in bits
and pieces. Boots never stopped loving her mother, though she’s never really understood the woman. Being raised by her grandmother, Boots has had an orderly life—walking in beauty. But her mother…” Rose sighed and shrugged. “So tell me. What happened to cause her death? Since you’re here, I’m assuming there’s a crime involved and it wasn’t just a car accident?”

Ella nodded. “She was murdered
at her home, the apartment behind the café.”

Rose sat down across from her, and they both drank their tea in silence for a while. “Was it one of her men friends? She saw many, if the gossip can be believed.” Rose looked into Ella’s eyes, then added, “But there’s a lot more you’re not saying, isn’t there?”

Ella was very good at keeping a poker face. It was part of being in law enforcement. But
she’d never been able to put anything over on Rose. Ella gave her a sanitized version of what they’d discovered, leaving out the gory parts and specifics.

Rose paled, then with an unsteady hand took a sip of her tea. “You made the right decision coming to tell me first. My friend is up in years, daughter, and she has problems with her heart. It wouldn’t be good to give her this kind of news while
she’s alone. Boots isn’t at home, she’s sitting with your daughter, so I’ll go with you. Just give me a minute to leave a note for my husband in case he wakes up.”

As Rose went into the next room, Ella set down her empty cup. Learning that Kevin was working late again annoyed her, but the only thing she could do was hope he wouldn’t make a habit of it while Dawn was there.

“I’ll follow you in
my truck,” Rose said, hurrying to the front door with her. “That way I’ll have a ride back and can stay for as long as I need to.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Boots will have to be told, too,” she sighed. “But maybe we should take things one step at a time.”

“You’ll have your hands full tonight, Mom. I’ll send one of my officers to tell Boots.”

It was late by the time they were seated
in Lena Clani’s living room, Rose by her friend’s side. As she broke the news, Ella watched Lena’s face register shock, then sorrow, and finally, rage.

“Who did this to my daughter?” she asked, her voice strangled. “He’s in jail, right?”

“No, not yet. We’ve barely had time to process the scene,” Ella said gently. “But we’re not going to let up until we track the person down.

“Was your daughter
seeing anyone special, maybe someone with strong religious ties?”

“Not that I know of. But what is it you’re implying? Was my daughter murdered by some religious nut? Is that it?” She looked at Ella as if struggling to understand the incomprehensible. “Why would anyone like that pass judgement on my daughter now? She was finally getting her life back!”

Lena wiped the tears from her face impatiently,
then ran a hand through her hair. Then, as if with great force of will, she took a deep unsteady breath and, to Ella’s surprise, met her gaze. Navajos seldom looked directly at anyone. It was considered a sign of disrespect. But all she could see in Lena’s eyes now was anger and, beyond that, the emptiness that came from utter and complete devastation.

“I want justice for my daughter. I respect
what you do for the tribe, so I’ll give you a few days to find the man who did this. But I won’t wait long, and if you fail, there are others who still respect the old ways and will help me.”

Ella didn’t have to ask what she meant. Lena was talking about the Fierce Ones, a vigilante group who believed Anglo law enforcement had no place on Navajo land. The Fierce Ones often got in the way of legitimate
law enforcement efforts, and although their brutal methods often achieved results, their tactics of intimidation were the antithesis of everything Ella stood for.

“Your family is very much part of my own. I’ll find whoever did this to your daughter. But I don’t react well to threats,” Ella said.

“Don’t ask me to turn the other cheek. That’s not our way,” Lena answered.

Lena’s voice was quiet
now and more controlled, and maybe that’s what made it even more disturbing. Ella knew that having a vigilante group breathing down her neck would just slow down her investigation.

Ella started to respond when she saw Rose shake her head. Her mother stood and urged Ella to the door. They stepped outside.

“Daughter, she can’t really hear you, not now,” Rose whispered. “Her heart is broken and
she’s in too much pain. Let me take care of her while you return to work. The quicker you solve this matter, the easier it’ll be for everyone.”

Ella looked at her mother and saw something in her eyes that disturbed her. “You don’t really disapprove of her threat to call in the Fierce Ones, do you?”