Shooting Chant Read online

  Ella smiled. “That guy just annoys me,” she replied. “I dislike anyone who tries to tell me how to do my job.”

  Landreth returned a few minutes later. “Off the record, Hansen was slowly going over the edge. His personal problems kept interfering with business. I would have fired him a long time ago if he hadn’t been so important to our production line.”

  Ella glanced at the employee file Landreth had handed her. “It says here that he was always arguing with his supervisor.”

  “That’s true. I am—was—his supervisor. I hired him to program the machines that sterilize our products. That’s precise, methodical work and he was an excellent systems designer. But he had mood swings that really interfered with his performance. One call from his ex-wife or her lawyer, and he’d go into a depression that would last for days. Then he’d just sit there like a stone and no one would be able to communicate with him.”

  “We’ll have to talk to his coworkers. Also, we’ll need to question Jimmie Herder since he found the body,” Ella said.

  “I can’t help you with that at the moment. Jimmie took off shortly after he notified us. We’ve had to call in another one of our security people to man the gate. I’ve tried calling Jimmie’s home several times already just to make sure he’s okay, but no one’s there.”

  Ella knew Jimmie. He was a traditionalist and so was his wife. Ghost sickness was a real fear among many of the Dineh, The People, but it was particularly so with the traditionalists. It was said that the chindi, the evil in a man, remained earthbound after his death and could contaminate the living. Jimmie would have wanted to have an evil-chasing chant done for him and would not have hung around. In all fairness, even a progressive wouldn’t have tempted fate by hanging around a corpse unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “What about that list of his coworkers?” Ella pressed.

  “No, you’ve gotten all you’re going to get from me for now. If your coroner finds that it’s murder, then come back and we’ll see. But until then, I’m finished.” Landreth gave her a hard look. “I’d be risking a lawsuit by giving you anything more and I’m just not willing to do that.”

  “Okay. Just don’t be surprised to see us out in the parking lot tomorrow, stopping people as they come in. I hope that doesn’t make them late for work,” Ella said with a shrug.

  By the time Ella and Taylor left the building, the crime scene team was working the parking lot area, and the medical examiner had arrived.

  Taylor’s handheld radio at his belt crackled and his call sign came over the air. He spoke quickly, then turned back to Ella. “I’m going to have to return to my office. Let me know what else you find out?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  As he drove off, Ella met with Dr. Carolyn Roanhorse, the tribe’s ME, and one of the few medical examiners in New Mexico not assigned to the Office of the Medical Investigators in Albuquerque. Carolyn was a large woman by any standards, but few had the nerve to point it out to her.

  Seeing Ella, Carolyn held up one hand and finished speaking into her tape recorder. After switching it off, she looked up. “You want me to tell you if this is suicide, but I won’t be able to give you any definitive answers yet.”

  “But you’ve got a gut feeling, right?” Ella pressed.

  She nodded. “I could be wrong, but I’d recommend you continue to investigate the possibility of a homicide on this one.”

  “That was my feeling, too,” Ella said. Carolyn’s guesses were seldom off the mark, and it was good to have her corroborate her own observations.

  Two hours later, after her team had processed the area and the body and the car had been taken away, Ella went to talk to Justine.

  “We need to find Jimmie Herder. He’s the security guard who found the body.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Or first thing tomorrow. I figure he’s probably out trying to hire a Singer. I’ll stop by my brother’s house tonight and see if Herder’s contacted him.”

  “I’ll check with his family,” Justine said. “If I find him, I’ll let you know right away.”

  Ella made sure that Landreth knew her team would be back in the morning for one last look around and that a cop would remain to guard the scene until then. Once that was done, she got back into her vehicle and sped down the highway.

  She’d agreed to meet her old friend Wilson Joe tonight and speak to the kids in the outreach program, but she was hopelessly late. Wilson was a full-time professor at the college, but he still managed to find time to work with the younger kids on the Rez after hours. It was his way of getting them involved in something other than trouble—the kind of trouble that recently had led to the appearance of gangs on the Navajo Nation.

  Right now, the kids were learning about animals and plant life on the Rez. Wilson had asked her to come and tell the kids a little about the Plant Watchers since Ella and her mother were members of that society.

  As she drove to the meeting, the monotony of the landscape helped her relax. Ella’s mind drifted back easily to the crime scene. That Anglo’s death still puzzled her. Instinct told her that there was a lot more to it than what appeared on the surface. The evidence presented a picture filled with too many little inconsistencies. The victim supposedly had shot himself with his left hand, yet the nicotine stains on his fingers suggested he was right-handed. The location and time of the shooting also bothered her. Why would he pick an afternoon break to do the job, and the parking lot at work?

  The Navajo Way said that everything had a pattern and only by seeing and understanding that pattern could one find harmony. Inconsistencies marred the order of things and revealed the pattern of evil, and recognizing that pattern was the first step toward reversing it. She wasn’t a traditionalist, but some things just made sense.

  Five minutes later, Ella parked her vehicle and walked inside the elementary school where Wilson’s group met. About ten children were in a room partially used for storage, showing off their pets and some of the plants they’d grown as part of a special project.

  Ella smiled at Wilson talking to Alice Washburn, Gloria’s eleven-year-old daughter, but she didn’t interrupt.

  “I’ve named my rabbit Winnie,” Alice said. “She was a gift, though Mom wasn’t too happy about her. Winnie just had babies, but only one is still alive. He’s really a cool little rabbit already.”

  As the other children started asking Alice if they could have the baby rabbit when it was old enough, Wilson took Ella aside.

  “I was worried that you wouldn’t make it.”

  “I got held up. It couldn’t be helped. But I’m glad you’re all still here.”

  “We may have a small group, but they couldn’t be better kids. They’re interested in just about everything.”

  “They look like a great bunch.”

  “I’m really lucky to be teaching them, to be honest. They’ve helped me more than you can imagine. It’s been really tough for me these past few months.”

  Ella knew he was referring to the death of his fiancée and all the discoveries that had come in the aftermath of that incident. He’d gone through his own version of Hell, facing betrayal, heartache, and almost the loss of his own life.

  “What do you think, Professor Wilson?” one of the girls asked.

  Wilson glanced down at the pair by his elbow. “I’m sorry, girls. What were you saying?”

  “So many people are angry over the show that the Agricultural Society held,” Marcie, a little girl of about eight, said. “A lot of the winners were people who had used special Anglo feeds for their animals instead of having them eat what our animals always have eaten—what the land gives us freely.”

  “It’s still fair,” Alice argued. “That feed is available to everyone.”

  “But the animals were even bred in funny ways,” Marcie said. “Artificially, or something.”

  Alice crossed her arms. “So what?” She looked up at Ella. “You have traditionalists in your family, Investigator Clah, but yo
u also went to school off the reservation. Do you believe that if we do stuff like that the gods will be angry?”

  “The Plant People will think they’re not needed and move away,” Marcie said.

  “What are Plant People?” Alice asked. “I never understand stuff like that!”

  “Because your family’s forgotten what it’s like to be Navajo,” Marcie said.

  Ella knew that their were echoing their parents and the old arguments between the traditionalists and the progressives. “Our tribe calls all plants the Plant People because, like people, they can be our friends, or not,” Ella answered. “Some plants are good, but others have to be guarded against. That’s a fact that stays the same whether you’re a progressive or a traditionalist.”

  “My mother said that the Plant People move away when things aren’t right because, like us, they like to live among friends,” Marcie said. “That’s why we used to have a lot of Indian rice grass and goosefoot which people and livestock could eat, but now all we have are snakeweed and tumbleweed.”

  Ella considered her answer carefully. The last thing she needed to do was start trouble for Wilson. “I’m not sure why things have changed, but that’s why we need our Plant Watchers more than ever. They know where to find the plants we need,” Ella said, starting the short lecture she’d prepared on plants and the group of herbalists known as the Plant Watchers.

  After completing her talk and answering all of the kids’ questions, Ella turned the meeting over to Wilson. He was a natural with the kids and they looked up to him.

  Time passed quickly. It was a pleasure to work with younger children. Their outlooks were filled with a freshness and vitality she seldom saw in her line of work, where cynicism often ruled.

  As the last traces of the sun began to disappear, the meeting was closed. She stood at the door with Wilson and watched the kids as their rides came to pick them up or they left to walk home. Once everyone was gone, Ella helped Wilson put away the folding chairs. She worked in silence, worries crowding her mind.

  “It’s not like you to be so quiet,” Wilson said at last.

  “I just wish there was a way to integrate the old ways with the new. They each have value. Unless we can do that, I’m afraid that the kids will grow up being neither Navajo nor Anglo, and having no idea where they fit into things.”

  Wilson nodded. “Our culture is slipping away and, with it, our special way of life. I was at a Chapter House meeting a few days ago. One of the elders reminded us that we seldom place pollen in the waters these days, yet we complain when the river becomes polluted and hurts the tribe instead of helping us. He said it’ll be that way with everything unless we learn to work with our gods again.”

  “We’re trapped, you know. The new ways seem to destroy the old in so many ways, and yet we need both.”

  “What happened tonight that made you late? You looked really preoccupied when you came in.”

  “We had a problem at LabKote,” she said without giving him any details. “I have a feeling that we’re in for another cycle of trouble.”

  “The traditionalists hate that place and everything it stands for.”

  “There was a death there tonight. After that gets out, it’ll be worse.”

  Wilson expelled his breath in a hiss. “Let’s not think about business right now. What do you say we go out and have some dinner at the Totah Cafe?”

  “I have a better idea. Come by the house with me. Mom would love a chance to cook for both of us.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I hurt her, you know. Rose doesn’t say much about it, but I know she always wanted us to get married. When I got engaged…”

  “She was disappointed,” Ella finished for him. “But we all have a right to live our own lives. Mom has to accept the fact that settling down and getting married is not for everyone.”

  “Don’t you want a husband and kids someday?”

  She smiled. “It’s not that simple.”

  “There was a time when I thought you and I would share a future and start a family.”

  She sighed softly. “The problem between us has never changed. We’re two great friends, but it’s never been more than that.”

  He nodded but didn’t answer, gathering another folding chair. The metal rack for storing chairs was against the wall and he walked in that direction.

  Ella was bringing him the last two chairs when she heard her call sign come over the radio. As Wilson took the chairs away from her, she nodded a silent thanks.

  Ella pulled out her handheld radio and identified herself.

  “There’s a 27–5 in progress,” the dispatcher said, “and we have no other available patrol units in Shiprock. A van’s parked outside the public health clinic, which is supposed to be closed now, and the caller reported seeing a prowler forcing open the front entrance.”

  “I’ve got it,” Ella said. Switching off the radio, she looked over at Wilson. “Duty calls.”

  “You should have picked a job that’s more eight to five. You’d have a life then,” he muttered as he walked with her outside to her vehicle.

  “Maybe, but being a cop is a big part of everything I like about myself,” she said, climbing into the SUV. “I can’t see myself ever giving it up.”

  As Wilson stepped away, Ella switched on the flashers and sped back to the highway. She’d go Code One, a silent approach. There wasn’t likely to be any immediate backup for her, so she’d have to make the most of the element of surprise. In the last few hours everything had changed for her, and she had no intention of taking any unnecessary risks.

  TWO

  Pushing back any thoughts that were not directly related to the work that lay ahead, Ella stayed focused as she raced back south on Highway 666.

  When she pulled into the clinic’s parking lot less than eight minutes later, lights and flashers already off, she was ready to confront the intruder. She knew what she had to do, and no one in the entire department was better trained than she was.

  Ella parked around the back so no one in the building could see her vehicle. She’d already spotted an old gray or light green van parked just outside the ring of light cast by the one street lamp. She slipped off the strap that held her gun secure in its holster, but didn’t draw her weapon. Instead, she reached under the seat for her side-handled nightstick, then crept quietly out of her Jeep.

  There didn’t appear to be a lookout in the van, so her luck was holding. The dispatcher’s call had reported that the witness had seen only one intruder, so she didn’t expect much trouble. Remaining cautious, however, Ella approached the building’s entrance from along one of the side walls, peered around the corner, and checked out the front. It was quiet, but she could see that the door had been forced open.

  Ella stepped inside the clinic and waited. It was dark and hard to see, but using the flashlight would give away her position. Once her eyes adjusted, she continued slowly, listening every step of the way.

  As she passed the reception area, she could hear the rustling of papers and the occasional thumps when objects were dropped onto the floor somewhere up ahead. Maybe it was a kid searching for drugs, or a cash box. The gang problem on the Rez had escalated in the last few years and, with it had come a lot of problems no one here had really dealt with before.

  Holding her nightstick in a blocking position, she inched forward. She wouldn’t draw her weapon and risk shooting a Navajo kid. She knew enough defense moves to neutralize any opponent with the nightstick and, in dealing with a burglar, she was more likely to encounter an opponent with a wrecking bar, bolt cutters, or a screwdriver than a handgun.

  Ella advanced cautiously toward the sound. As she reached the entrance of the first office, she heard the crash of a large piece of furniture, probably a file cabinet, being overturned.

  Ella edged up to the doorjamb. From her vantage point she could see the pale blue glow of a computer screen. It appeared the intruder had been searching through electronic records in addition to
everything else. Her instinct for danger switched on to maximum. That didn’t fit the profile of a kid looking for drugs. Something else was going on here.

  Spotting a short, stocky figure holding a penlight in his teeth and rummaging through a shelf, Ella crept up behind him, alert every step of the way in case the burglar wasn’t alone. Before he could turn around, she slammed her baton behind his knees. As he fell to the floor, she delivered another quick blow to his side. Five seconds later, she had him on his stomach and handcuffed.

  “Gotcha kid,” she muttered, surprised to see he was wearing gloves. Somehow, she hadn’t expected a teenager to plan that far ahead.

  He tried to twist away and his strength surprised her, but teenagers could be incredibly fit. “Let’s go, buddy. Stand up. I’ll read you your rights on the way to the station.”

  She’d expected some wise talk, but the kid remained silent. She looked around, still sensing something wasn’t right about the situation.

  Neither seeing nor hearing anyone else, Ella led her prisoner quickly to the office door, wanting to turn on the lights and get a good look at both the kid and the office. It was too dark to make out much at the moment. She couldn’t even tell for sure what color hair the kid had, though around here, black seemed a good bet. Suddenly she heard a crackling sound behind her, like that of someone stepping on a piece of paper.

  Ella pushed her prisoner to the floor and whirled around to face her adversary.

  “Come out now,” Ella ordered, waving her baton back and forth. “Don’t make it worse on yourself.”

  Suddenly muzzle flashes lit up the darkened hallway to her right, accompanied by the deafening bangs of two gunshots. Realizing that there were three of them, Ella dove behind a desk as glass shattered behind her.

  This was no ordinary break-in, and these weren’t ordinary kids. Before she could draw her weapon, one of the trio came up behind her, yanked her off her feet, and hurled her into a coat closet. As her head slammed against the wall, bright lights flashed behind her eyes.

  Stunned, she struggled to stand up, but she smashed her head against the metal coat rack then fell back to her knees. Everything went completely black as the door was closed, trapping her inside.