Turquoise Girl (4 page)

She hesitated for a heartbeat. “
Bilagáana
law doesn’t always exact justice. Whether you like it
or not, you know that’s true.”

“That may be, but do your best to keep her out of trouble, Mom. I’d really hate having to arrest her,” Ella said, then added, “but I will if I have no other choice.”

“That’s to be expected,” Rose answered stiffly.

As she walked back inside, Ella returned to her unit. This case was like a pebble tossed out into a pond. The ripples would travel far and wide. Worried,
she drove back to the crime scene.

Despite the late hour, the crime scene team was still hard at work. Ella joined her partner, who was inside processing evidence along with Officer Tache. Officer Talk, not part of the team, had been sent to give Boots the bad news about her mother. The young women were about the same age, and Ella hoped it might make it a bit easier, especially because both
had traditionalist backgrounds. Marianna was also going to ask if Boots could provide any additional information on Valerie.

Joe Neskahi was still outside, going over every inch of ground around the building and in the parking lot. Floodlights powered by a generator made his work a little easier but, clearly, it was going to be a long night.

“I spoke to the diner’s owner,” Justine said from
the kitchenette, standing beside a cardboard box already full of collected evidence. “He’ll be here shortly. Wanna help me out in the bedroom? I’m still going over the area where the body was left.”

They’d worked for a half an hour searching for trace evidence that might have been overlooked when Ella heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. “That’s probably the owner. I’ll go meet him,”
she said.

Sergeant Neskahi directed the big pickup to an adjacent parking spot, then pointed at Ella when she exited the building. A tall man in his early fifties climbed down from the oversize cab and went to meet her. The Anglo, who looked as if he worked out regularly, was dressed in a fitted Western style shirt and a turquoise and silver bolo tie. New-looking blue jeans and snakeskin boots
suggested he might have just come from an upscale country and Western bar.

He didn’t offer his hand, maybe knowing Navajos as a people weren’t big on handshakes. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I’ve been having trouble with my truck and it refused to start. I’m the owner of this place. My name’s Stan Brewster. I understand one of my employees, Valerie Tso, was killed here tonight.”

“In
her apartment, we believe,” Ella responded, nodding and noting that the man appeared nervous, behavior typical of people called to a murder site by the police. If he’d been too cool or collected, then she would have been suspicious. “What I need you to do first is check out the café and make sure that nothing was taken, or is out of place. We need to start ruling out some of our theories.”

“Let’s
go,” he said, leading the way.

He unlocked the door and looked around the dining area carefully, but it was clear, even at first glance, that no one had come in. He checked the cash register next and showed her the bills inside. “There’s not much here, but that’s the way it should be. Every afternoon we make a deposit at the bank. There’s never any substantial amount left in the drawer overnight,
only enough to begin the next business day.”

Ella had taken a good look at the man’s hands while he’d operated the cash register. He had no obvious bruises or cuts. Of course, even if Brewster had been the killer, he could have easily worn gloves. The man looked strong and healthy and she wasn’t even close to ruling anyone out at the moment. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Valerie
Tso dead?” Ella asked, studying his reaction.

Stan stared across the room, lost in thought. He didn’t seemed to be particularly emotional about Valerie’s death, but then she didn’t know a thing about Brewster’s relationships with his employees.

“Valerie had a drinking problem at one time, and several marriages behind her. She didn’t hold back her history when she applied for a job but, after
that, she kept her private life private, at least to me, her boss. The only thing I know for sure is that she was working hard to turn things around for herself. Valerie really wanted a second chance at life. That’s why I hired her.”

“Do you know if she was currently seeing anyone in particular? A boyfriend?”

“I’m not sure about that, but I can tell you this. She went to school and she worked
here forty hours a week. That pretty much took up all her time on weekdays.”

“And on weekends? Did she go to church or have any other regular activities?” Ella knew that this would have been the wrong question to have asked Valerie’s mother, Lena, who was a traditionalist. But right now she needed a full profile as quickly as possible.

“I think she mentioned attending the church up on the mesa,
east side of the highway. The Good Shepherd, it’s called.”

She nodded. It was where her friend Reverend Bilford Tome, Ford for short, preached. Life for her had taken some strange detours lately. If anyone had told her a few years ago that she was going to be involved with a Christian minister she would have laughed. She made a mental note to speak to Ford later. He’d be able to tell her if Valerie
had been a regular.

“Come to think of it, I overheard Valerie talking to one of our patrons here at the café recently. Valerie mentioned she was having problems with one of her ex-husbands. Does that help?” Stan added.

“Which husband? Do you have a name?”

“’Fraid not. She never mentioned it to me, and I never asked.”

“Okay, Mr. Brewster. We’re probably going to have other questions for you
as the investigation progresses so if you decide to leave the area, please let us know in advance. We’ll want to be able to contact you if something new comes up.” Ella handed the man her card.

“I understand. Just catch whoever did this to Valerie, okay?”

“We will,” she nodded, wondering from his offhand tone just how sincere the man was, or if he was just saying that for effect. “There’s really
no reason for you to have to stick around anymore, Mr. Brewster. But if you can leave us a key to the café, we’d appreciate it—just in case we need to get back in here tonight.”

He took two keys off a metal ring and handed them to her. “I have another set at home. Should I even try to open the café tomorrow? I honestly don’t know how my regular customers are going to react to this.”

Ella knew
Navajos didn’t like going anywhere someone had died. The old ceremonial grounds, just across the river on the west side, had been relocated years ago after an old man had died there during a Sing. Maybe Brewster’s café would survive if people didn’t mind that someone had died right
next door,
and not exactly inside the business.

“We might still have some officers around in the morning, so I’d
wait a day. You’ll get a call when we release the scene.”

“Okay then. Good night.” Brewster walked back to his truck. It faltered at first, then finally started. A second later he drove away, heading east.

Justine came out to join her. “Still no pen anywhere, inside or out, and no paper except a little memo pad by the refrigerator. Whoever killed her brought his own writing material, or took
what was here with him. There’s a bank deposit slip on the floor. We’ll check with the bank in the morning and see who made the transaction.”

“Do you still attend the Good Shepherd church?”

“Yeah, why?” Justine answered.

“The victim supposedly attended that church. Do you recall ever seeing her at the Sunday services?” Ella asked.

Justine thought about it for a long moment. “No, I don’t, but
I may have missed her, or maybe she just attended the Sunday evening service or the one on Wednesday night. Reverend Campbell and Reverend Tome always greet the congregation and guests at the main entrance, so you might ask them. She may also be on the members list.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll check first thing.”

While Justine went back to work, Ella approached Joe Neskahi, who was collecting blood
samples discovered out on the paved parking area.

“You’re with us on this case until we’re through,” she said.

“I’d like a permanent transfer, if one can be arranged,” he said.

Ella hesitated. “I’m not sure I can swing that as long as someone else controls our budget, but I’ll make the request to Big Ed and see what happens.”

“Thanks.”

It was three in the morning by the time they wrapped
things up and had stored away all the evidence in the crime scene van. Ella helped Tache stow away the portable lights while Justine locked and sealed the apartment.

“We’ve got quite a bit of evidence,” Tache said. “Let’s hope it leads us to the killer. I hate to think of a sicko like this running around the Rez.”

“Me, too,” Ella answered.

Justine placed the last of her gear into the unit,
then glanced at Ella. “Back to the station?”

“No. Let’s pack it in for now. We’ll have to get an early start tomorrow.”

Justine glanced at her watch. “We may be able to get about three hours of sleep, if we’re lucky.”

Ella smiled wryly. At least she wouldn’t have to tiptoe back into the house. Rooming with two other officers who kept long hours had its advantages, but the bottom line was that
she missed Dawn terribly. It didn’t seem right to go to bed without making sure that Dawn hadn’t kicked off her covers, and brushing a light kiss on her forehead. Ella even missed watching her sleep.

That was the thing about motherhood. Whether Dawn was eight or thirty-eight, she’d always worry about her. The love she felt for her daughter would never diminish nor fade away. It was the one constant
they could both count on. And for some reason that fact gave her immense comfort.

Justine handed Ella a cup of coffee as she entered the kitchen the following morning. “Get any sleep?”

Ella smiled. “As much as you did,” she said, looking at the circles under Justine’s eyes.

Justine nodded somberly. “I was so tired, yet I kept seeing her. It was the way the killer positioned her…kneeling in prayer.
It seemed…well, obscene.”

Ella nodded, understanding. “That form of prayer is supposed to bring peace and comfort. I can see why you might feel that way about it.”

“I ran a check on her ex-husbands this morning while you were getting ready,” Justine said, putting on her jacket as Ella sipped coffee.

“Any of them Christians, active or not?”

“That I can’t tell you yet. But here’s what I’ve got.
One’s in the military and overseas, so he’s out. The second one died a few years ago in an auto accident. The third one lives over by Gallup with his girlfriend and their three kids. His name is Andrew Pettigrew, and he works at an auto shop in downtown Gallup. The fourth is Gilbert Tso, who lives east of Shiprock not far from Herman Cloud’s place. Tso is currently unemployed and attending a mandatory
outpatient alcohol program after his last DWI arrest. I tried his number, but the phone’s been disconnected.”

“Good work,” Ella said, finishing off her coffee. “Let’s get going. I’d like to stop by the church and see Ford first. While we’re there, we can talk to Reverend Campbell, too. Then, afterward, we’ll go drop by the Tso residence.” Ella grabbed her own jacket, attached her holster to her
belt, then took a final glance around the kitchen. “Where’s Emily?”

“Working in her greenhouse. When she’s done she’ll have a fast breakfast—meaning one of those inedible breakfast bars—and then head off to work. I tried to tell her about the Barela family’s breakfast burritos. They sell them on the road to Farmington, so I figured she could treat herself to one on the way to work. Their
naniscaada
sandwiches are to die for, too.”

“But she wouldn’t give up the breakfast bar?”

Justine nodded as they walked to the car. “Amazing, don’t you think? I mean I’ve tasted her breakfast bars.
Peeeuuu!
It even
looks
like the sweet feed you give horses. It’s some kind of oatmeal granola thing with fat-free something or another.”

“If there’s any justice in this world, someday you’ll know what it’s
like to have to worry about your weight,” Ella said, climbing into the passenger side and putting on her seat belt.

Justine burst out laughing. “Oh, yeah, like
you
do, Miss Skinny-Tall? You’ve never watched calories in your life.”

“No, but they find me anyway…particularly if I don’t take time to run at least three times a week.”

With Justine driving, they reached the highway and headed toward
the community of Shiprock, which, like many New Mexico towns, had nearly all of its major businesses alongside the main road.

“There’s the Barelas’ stand,” Ella said, gesturing ahead to a wide spot beside the road where a pickup was parked, the tailgate down. That was where the breakfast fare was displayed and served. “You’ve made me hungry, and not for grazing at roughage. What do you say we
pick up a quality breakfast?”

Two other vehicles were parked alongside Barelas’, and Ella could see three men wearing hard hats, carrying bulging paper sacks. They were walking toward a big, extended-cab pickup with a local oil company sign on the door. From their slow pace, she got the idea they were coming off the midnight shift at a drilling site instead of heading out. Mrs. Barela stood
beside her old folding chair, already anticipating her and Justine, who were semiregulars.

A fourth man in a cap and sunglasses sat on the running board of his own pickup, just the other side of the vendor’s vehicle, finishing off a big sandwich. He stood and came over to the tailgate. “I’ll have another. I’ve missed this kind of chow,” he said, glancing at Ella and Justine as they came up.

“Ladies first,” he said, nodding to them. He stepped back, eyeing them behind dark glasses and obviously noticing their weapons. “Police officers, huh?”

“You must be from out of town,
hosteen,
” Mrs. Barela said, chuckling as she used the Navajo term for “mister.” “Everyone around here knows our most famous women detectives.” She smiled at Ella and Justine. “Right, ladies?”

Ella glanced curiously
at the man, trying not to make her interest obvious. In his late forties or early fifties, he wore jeans and a flannel shirt, which was typical dress for the Four Corners. He looked hard and a little dangerous—your standard romance novel fodder. Assuming he had charm to go with his looks, he probably had his pick of women. He was definitely the type of man mothers would warn their daughters about,
she decided immediately.

On his forearm was an elaborate yet crude handmade tattoo of a cross, an instant turnoff for Ella that broke any potential attraction. It wasn’t the cross—she was dating a Christian minister. Going back to her years in the FBI, she’d learned to associate homemade tattoos with convicts. And the sunglasses were for “beach Navajos”—a name her mother used to refer to members
of the tribe who’d lived in California, then returned.

Ella herself had been one of those at one time. Her nickname when she’d returned to the Rez had been L.A. Woman though. Fortunately, she’d lost the title after finally earning the respect of those who mattered in her life. These days the habit of wearing sunglasses was just a holdover from her Bureau days.

Ella didn’t stare at Mr. Beach
Navajo, a glance or two was enough after her years of training and experience. Far too many men interpreted obvious attention as a come-on, including Navajos not raised to avoid eye contact with adults. She and Justine ordered their food, paid, then left immediately.

They ate as they drove to the church on the north side of Shiprock. All throughout Ella remained quiet and pensive.

“What’s bugging
you?” Justine said at last.

“It’s this case. I’ve got a strong feeling that I’m missing something important. The scene was carefully staged, but to what end? What exactly is the killer trying to tell us? And the other thought that worries me is the possibility that this may only be the first victim, that there are others on the killer’s death list. If that’s the case, we have a serious problem
because the Fierce Ones
will
get involved,” Ella said, then added, “Just as a precaution, start keeping an eye out for a possible tail. Lena Clani might have talked to someone already about looking into the murder.”

“You think they’d use us to bird-dog suspects?”

“Absolutely. Their MO isn’t to investigate, it’s to even the score, though they’d see it as restoring the balance.”

Justine glanced
over at her, then back at the road. “I understand the satisfaction their type of justice gives the
Diné
, The People. You can’t tell me there haven’t been times when you wished you could blow a suspect straight to hell.”

“Sure, but the difference is that we have rules, and we follow them. Civilization needs rules, partner, limitations we place on ourselves instead of letting our emotions rule
us. Without them, there’s only chaos, and more crime.”

“I know,” Justine replied with a sigh. “But pulling a Dirty Harry now and then would sure be satisfying.”

Ella laughed. “What have you been watching at night?” Before Justine could respond, Ella’s cell phone rang. She answered it immediately. It was Special Agent Blalock, and he wasn’t a morning person, obviously. Before his third cup of
coffee, he always sounded as if he’d been gargling with lye.

“I’m in my office, Ella. Got your reports and I’m currently checking VICAP to see if this crime matches the MO of any of the violent offenders on file. If VICAP finds any similarities, it’ll suggest possible suspects and produce fingerprints. Then we can compare those to any you might have found at the scene.”

“Those databases are
worth their weight in gold,” Ella said, updating him. The thought that Valerie’s death hadn’t been the first was almost as scary as the possibility of more to come.

“I’ll catch up to you later,” Blalock said, then hung up.

As they parked beside the side entrance to the church, Ella spotted Ford on a tall stepladder setting up a surveillance camera underneath the roof overhang. She smiled, thinking
it was probably right up his alley, or close to it. Although his past remained shrouded in mystery, she knew that the preacher had a very high government security clearance and he’d had a background in cryptography.

On a previous case, he’d been able to access databases that had eluded the best efforts of even her favorite hacker, Teeny, or as he was more formally known, Bruce Little. Then, when
they’d tried to learn more about Bilford Tome, the computers had locked up and phone calls had come down the chain of command ordering them to cease inquires immediately. For all intents and purposes, Ella still didn’t know who Ford was or—more to the point—who Ford had been. The man continued to be an unanswered question, one that never failed to intrigue her.

Justine winked at Ella. “You’re
really hooked on our reverend, aren’t you?”

“He’s just a friend, partner.”

“For now.”

Ella scowled at her. As her second cousin, Justine felt free to get much more personal than a mere colleague. Getting out of the car, Ella glanced across at her partner. “Let’s split up and save time. You take Reverend Campbell, and we’ll compare notes later on our way to see Tso.”

As Justine entered the
church, Ella joined Ford as he stepped off the ladder. He was tall, probably six one to her five ten, broad shouldered, and classically handsome. Yet what attracted her most was his gentle spirit and high degree of intelligence.

“It’s good to see you, Ella,” Ford greeted. He shortened the ladder and set it flat on the ground, then walked back to the church with her.

“How come you’re setting
up a surveillance camera?” Ella asked as he opened the door for her.

“Someone’s been getting into the cars during our Sunday services, and I’ve about had it,” he answered. “It’s a nuisance, that’s all. Nothing is ever taken, there’s just the obvious invasion of privacy. But tell me, what brings you here?”

“I need to ask you some questions about one of your parishioners.”

He grew somber and
nodded. “The woman who was murdered?”

“Yes, but how did you know? I don’t think the press had it yet.”

“Press? I got this from Stan Brewster, the Anglo who runs the Morning Stop. He comes by every so often to make a donation and today was one of those days. He used to belong to this church when he first got married, I’ve been told, but he’s not much of a churchgoer these days. His wife, Donna,
a Navajo, apparently joined a congregation in Farmington. Brewster doesn’t get along with Reverend Campbell, but he still makes donations to our youth ministry and sponsors the church softball team. I think he only does it to maintain a positive image in the community,” he said, then added. “Stan didn’t know any of the details, but he mentioned having to meet with you and answer questions about
his employee. What happened?”

“I can’t discuss the specifics yet, but I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what you know about the victim, Valerie Tso. I understand she attended church here.”

“Yes, but only for a short time. She’d been raised with the traditional Navajo beliefs, so I’m not really sure what drew her to Christianity, or our church, but the Lord calls whomever He will.”

Ella
said nothing as they entered Ford’s office. It was simply furnished, nothing more than a desk, two file cabinets, and a large, carved wooden cross made of what looked like cottonwood. Despite the simplicity, or maybe because of it, the place exuded a sense of peace and tranquility. Ford sat behind his desk and waited for her to make herself comfortable.

“Was Valerie ever interested in becoming
an official church member?” Ella pressed.

“She did stay after services one Sunday and asked me some questions about our members. She pointed out that most of our congregation had newer model cars and wanted to know if banks sometimes gave preferential treatment to churchgoers.” He chuckled softly. “I assured her that wasn’t the case—at least in my experience.”

Ella laughed, remembering Ford
still drove a 1971 VW bus. “So do you think she had an angle?”

“Maybe she was just trying to make conversation, or hinting that she needed a recommendation or cosigner on a loan. I honestly don’t know. But after we took up a collection for one of our members who’d been in an accident, Valerie saw how supportive we are of each other. That really touched her. I think that was something she wanted
very badly in her own life.”

“Did she make friends among the members?”

Ford considered it. “I only recall greeting her on the steps a few times and seeing her during the service. I think Reverend Campbell mentioned later that she’d decided to join another church here on the Rez.”

“Think back. Did Valerie ever say or allude to anything that might give me a lead to her killer, or maybe just something
that seemed odd or out of place?”

He considered it for a long time. “No, not that I remember. All I can tell you is that she was a person looking for more than what she had in her life, and that’s what can lead a person to God.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the information.”

“Changing the subject—I suppose dinner anytime soon is out?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “Sorry. When I’m working a case,
my personal life basically goes into the trash,” she answered.

“But your work is what makes you, you,” he observed with a smile and a shrug.

It was right on target. “You know me better than some people who’ve known me all my life, Ford.” But it was more than that. He understood because he’d given his life to his work as well. His duty to God would always come first.

“That’s part of why we get
along so well, you know,” he said. “In many ways, our work is as necessary to us as breathing.”

“Common ground,” she answered with an easy smile, then said a quick good-bye.