Mourning Dove Read online

  “Yeah, you’re right. A burglar would have trashed the place. Whoever did this was careful—just not careful enough.” He turned around in a circle, then shrugged. “Nothing’s missing that I can tell.”

  “Something was taken from on top of this old spiral notebook. Any idea what it could have been?” Ella indicated the spot.

  He nodded. “Another spiral notebook. But that’s weird. Why would anyone want it? My brother kept his stories—kid stories he wrote—in those. He wants . . . wanted to write children’s books someday. Who’d take them?”

  “Suppose he hid something valuable between the pages? Money or paychecks?”

  “Maybe. But there were four or five notebooks there. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Could be we’ll find them outside,” Ella said. “Or do you think whoever sneaked in was a kid, or an old classmate planning on playing a trick on your brother?”

  “He picked the wrong day for it then,” Samuel said.

  Ella led Samuel back outside. She wouldn’t risk compromising the scene any more than they’d already done. With luck, Justine would be able to lift prints. She called her partner, filled her in, then turned her attention back to Samuel. “Tell me about your brother.”

  “He returned to Fort Bliss about three weeks ago and was released from service yesterday. He was going to drive home in a rental car since his pickup is at my home in Farmington.”

  “You said car. Do you know if he might have rented a pickup instead?” Ella asked, knowing that was the carjackers’ vehicle of choice. No cars had been taken to date that they knew about.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Where did Jimmy work locally before his unit shipped overseas?”

  “At Jensen’s Lumber in Farmington, out on east Main. But he was planning to quit after he returned. My brother was saving up to pay for some classes at the community college. Writing classes, mostly.”

  Samuel turned away from her, stared at the house for a few seconds, then faced her again. “I want to be kept current on any progress you make. I need to make sure that we catch whoever did this and that he pays.”

  She’d expected nothing less. Ella met his gaze and held it. “I’ve been in a situation similar to yours, so I know what kind of things are racing through your mind. But I’m in charge of this investigation. I’ll keep you informed as much as I can, but this is my case. If you start getting in my way, you’ll mess up things for everyone—except your brother’s killer or killers.”

  “What do you expect me to do? Sit on the sidelines?” he countered.

  “Be a professional and make darned sure you do stay on the sidelines, Officer.”

  “I can help you,” he insisted, walking back to her car, Ella beside him. “I’m on the team investigating the carjackings going down outside the Rez. And from what I saw, it’s almost certain that the perps who’ve been running roughshod all over the Four Corners are the same ones who murdered my brother today. Our departments are supposed to be working together on this,” Samuel said, his eyes flat and hooded—a cop’s gaze that revealed nothing and spoke volumes. “That makes it my business—officially. And if someone had it in for my brother, I’m going to find out who, like it or not.”

  “Noted,” Ella said. At this point it would make sense to suspect a strong connection to the carjacking ring. “Now tell me something I don’t know. How come you didn’t go pick up your brother?” Ella asked. “You knew when he was coming home, and it’s only a six-hour-plus drive to Albuquerque and back.”

  “I was filling in for someone on the day shift and couldn’t get off,” he answered, then after a brief pause added, “But that wasn’t the only reason. I probably could have found a way had I wanted to. You might as well find out now that my brother and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things. I’ve only spoken to him once on the phone since he got back to the States, and I wasn’t planning on making the welcome-home parade in Farmington that was planned for tomorrow now that all the soldiers are finally back.”

  “What was the problem between you two?” Ella pressed.

  He shrugged. “Except for politics, he and I disagreed on practically everything. We were brothers, but we haven’t been friends for a very long time.”

  Samuel was in front of her, resting against the car door, but wouldn’t look directly at her for more than a few seconds at a time. He was either distracted or holding out on her. Ella watched him carefully. Depending on where he’d been at the time of Jimmy Blacksheep’s death, Samuel might soon become a suspect. “Where were you at around seven this morning?”

  He stood up straight, the vein in his forehead bulging. “You think I killed my brother? Where the hell did that come from?” he said, then took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

  Ella refused to be intimidated, and the fact that she was about an inch taller than him made it easier, though he outweighed her by fifty pounds, at least. “Come on, Officer. Give me a break. You’re been a cop for how long? You know the drill.” Her emphasis on the word “officer” and her dispassionate tone of voice got through to him, as Ella had hoped.

  “Yeah, yeah. Assume nothing, don’t rule out anyone automatically,” he said with a curt nod. “I was home, getting ready for work,” he answered in a calmer tone.

  She’d known quite a few officers who were skilled game players and could lie with frightening ease. Unable to read him, she just nodded. “Okay.”

  He reached for the door handle, then took his hand away. “I forgot to ask. What’s the drill at the morgue? I know the tribe has its own M.E. and that there’ll be an autopsy. But how soon will my brother’s body be released? I need to make burial arrangements.”

  “Call Dr. Roanhorse at her office and see where things stand. You can have the body picked up from the morgue once she releases it. And Samuel?”

  His eyebrows went up.

  “Me or one of my team will need to talk to you again, so I need your home address and phone number. And your cell?”

  Samuel reached for his card, then scribbled a telephone number and his address on the back. “I don’t have a cell, but leave a message on my answering machine or at the station if you can’t reach me on duty. I’ll call you back ASAP.”

  Ella watched as Samuel climbed into his unit, then drove off. Stepping away from the dust cloud his tires had churned up, she brought out her cell phone. She’d need everything the Farmington PD had on Samuel—but she wanted the background check kept under wraps. Mentally reviewing her options she realized that there was only one person who could pull that off—Shiprock Police Chief Atcitty—Big Ed.

  THREE

  Ella sat across the desk from Shiprock’s chief of police. Big Ed Atcitty was aptly named. What he lacked in stature, he made up for in bulk. He was a beefy man, broad shouldered and built like a fireplug, but he’d remained in shape over the years despite the fact that he rarely went out into the field anymore.

  “Shorty, I’m trying to get what you wanted from the Farmington PD, but they’re on the defensive.”

  Even though Ella was at least a head taller than he was, her boss insisted on calling her Shorty. Ella knew the nickname had stemmed from the easy relationship they shared, one based on trust and respect, and didn’t mind. On the Rez, many people were given nicknames to avoid using their proper names which were considered the bearer’s personal property.

  “If one of their own is dirty, or even a potential suspect,” Big Ed continued, “they want to handle it. It’s that jurisdictional posturing again.”

  “Understandable,” she said. “But I have nothing to give them in the form of physical evidence. All I’ve really got is a feeling that Officer Blacksheep is holding out on me. The thing is, Chief, I trust my instincts.”

  Big Ed rocked back and forth in his swivel chair, and stared pensively out the window at something Ella couldn’t see from where she was sitting. Silence stretched out, but she knew better than to interrupt it. Pauses in conversation on the outside usu
ally meant it was time for the other person to speak. Here on the Navajo Nation, more often than not, it just meant that someone was still thinking. Interrupting that process was considered extremely rude.

  “Blacksheep has a good reputation with his department, so tread very, very carefully, Shorty.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded her for a moment. “Any other suspects?”

  “Too early to tell, though the carjacking ring is at the top of the list, for obvious reasons. But I’m not ruling out any other possible motives. We’ll have more to go on after the crime-scene evidence is processed. Justine is also getting me a list of soldiers who served in the victim’s unit and live in this area or may have passed through in the past twenty-four hours. After we find out what kind of vehicle the victim was driving, we can put out a statewide bulletin.”

  “At this point Farmington PD believes that the murder was the result of a carjacking gone wrong . . .” Big Ed said, letting the sentence hang.

  “It’s possible, I suppose, maybe even likely, but there’re some reasons to believe otherwise. Not everything adds up right. For one, why would Jimmy put up a fight over a rental vehicle? And if it turns out he was driving a car instead of a pickup—I’m still trying to track down the rental agency—that’ll be another discrepancy.”

  Big Ed considered it. “After you’ve been in battle—particularly the kind where there are no front lines—hostiles are everywhere and could be anyone—you’re jazzed. It sometimes takes months to get your feet back on firm ground. The victim was carrying a weapon from what you could tell?”

  “Yes, or else managed to grab one from his attackers. But we couldn’t find shell casings or the weapon itself. The blood evidence is still being analyzed, but we know it came from two different individuals.”

  Big Ed leaned back in his chair. “Once the Tribal Council hears about this, it won’t be long before they’ll be on my back, pushing for a solution. One of our tribe’s warriors goes to a foreign land, fights and survives while supplying our troops, and then dies here between the sacred mountains where he should have been safe from attack.” He shook his head. “A hero like that deserved better. We have to balance the scales.”

  Ella nodded. At the core of the Navajo way was the belief that all things were connected, that nothing existed independent of its surroundings. To restore harmony, the scales had to be balanced—in this case, the scales of justice.

  “Import manpower from other divisions if you need to. People—both on and off the Rez—will demand answers. Those carjackers have been running law enforcement in circles for months, but now a returning soldier has died. Their criminal operation will die next,” he added flatly.

  “I’m on it,” she said.

  “Your priority as of this moment is to catch the killer or killers,” Big Ed said flatly. “Keep me posted.”

  Ella returned to her office, checked her watch, and sighed. She’d really hoped to go see her eight-year-old daughter, Dawn, star in her school play this afternoon, but it was out of the question now. Dawn was scheduled to play the part of a medicine woman who’d tended to The People after the Long March—when Kit Carson and the U.S. Army had forced the tribe to walk to an interment camp in Bosque Redondo.

  Ella and Rose had been helping her rehearse for a month, and Dawn had been really excited. Although Ella knew that Dawn had been counting on her to attend, there was nothing she could do about that now. Ella called home and told her mother in general terms what had happened.

  “We’re under pressure to solve this case quickly, Mom. There’s just no way I’ll be able to take off work today to go to my daughter’s play.” Out of respect for Rose, who was a traditionalist, she avoided mentioning Dawn by name. Traditionalists believed that names had power that could be used by the bearer in emergencies if that power was kept fresh and strong. To use a person’s name often depleted them of the one resource that was theirs alone.

  “But your daughter has been looking forward to this for weeks! She’s worked hard. It’s important that you be there. Couldn’t you at least stop by, let her see you, then leave?”

  Hearing footsteps, Ella glanced up and waved Justine into her office. “Mom, I’ve made every event this year at school except for one. Besides, she knows what my job is like, and I warned her more than once that if an emergency came up—”

  “Your child heard you with her ears, but not with her heart. She’s young, and she thinks that if she just hopes hard enough, it’ll happen.”

  “Mom, every parent has to make choices like this once in a while. But as soon as the case is closed I’ll take her with me on a special outing. We can trailer the horses down to the bosque and go for a ride there. I know she’ll love that.”

  “Do everyone a favor, daughter,” Rose snapped. “Don’t tell her your plans until you’ve got the horses inside the trailer, the phone turned off, and you’re ready to go.”

  Rose’s words coiled around her painfully, like barbed wire stretched over bare skin. Her mom was overreacting, but there was no sense in arguing with someone who’d already made up their mind. Before she could respond, Rose continued.

  “Eventually you’ll have to decide where your priorities lie, daughter. Just hope it won’t be too late.”

  “Mom, that’s not fair! You didn’t attend every school event I had when I was growing up, remember? Conflicts are part of family life, and I never held them against you. If my daughter had an emergency, I’d turn the case over to Justine and be done with it,” she said, hurt and doing what she did instinctively under those circumstances—fight back.

  With that, Rose hung up.

  Ella slammed the phone down, then, remembering she wasn’t alone, looked sheepishly at Justine. “Mothers. With one hand you want to hug them close, and with another you’d cheerfully push them into the river.”

  Justine smiled. “Do you need to duck out this afternoon for a while? I can cover for you.”

  “No. I know you can handle things, but as head of this unit this is where I have to be right now. Dawn will understand that, even if my mother never will,” Ella said, then taking a deep breath, gave her assistant a nod. “So what have you got for me?”

  Justine glanced down at her notes. “As you know, we’ve got two blood types at the scene. One belongs to the victim. The other to someone else—one of the perps, or maybe Blacksheep had a companion—though the tracks and blood trails don’t seem to fit in with that possibility. I did some checking and he rented a big two-door sedan in El Paso at a branch of Nationwide. The agent said Blacksheep was traveling alone—at least when he picked up the car.”

  “A sedan, not a pickup? That’s interesting, considering that the carjacking ring has focused exclusively on pickups—and a flatbed or two.”

  “I’ve also got a list of local Guard soldiers who served in the victim’s unit. There are eight of them, all male. The Navajos are Randy Billey, John Lee Charley, Jeremy Bitsillie, and Paul Curley. Jeremy’s on our tribal force and the others work at various repair shops around Shiprock. Out of the Anglos, Calvin Sanders, Kent Miller, and Louis Smith are all FPD officers, and Ben Richardson is a mechanic in the PD’s auto shop.”

  As her phone began to ring, Ella held up one hand. She half expected it to be Rose again. Her mother—who’d never worked outside the home when her own children had been at home—hadn’t experienced the fine line every working mother had to walk.

  On an intellectual level, Rose realized that Ella had to work to support Dawn, and that her law enforcement career was more demanding than a nine-to-five job. But emotionally, Rose expected her to be all things to everyone.

  Ella picked up the phone and identified herself.

  “This is Sergeant Calvin Sanders of the Farmington Police Department,” came the voice at the other end. “I’d like to meet with you concerning the death of Jimmy Blacksheep. I’m on the carjacking investigative force, and I knew Jimmy. He served in my platoon. I’m—was—his lieutenant in the Army National Guard.”

&n
bsp; “Okay. Where do you want to meet—and when?” Ella asked.

  “How about the Dry Hole? It’s on Main here in Farmington, west of downtown.”

  “I’ve heard of it. How’s forty-five minutes sound to you?”

  “Good. It’s a rough place, but I’ve got a good reason for wanting to meet there. I’ll fill you in later.”

  Ella hung up and glanced at Justine. “I’ve stalled for time, so please find out what you can—off the record—about FPD Sergeant Calvin Sanders. And go easy. I just want some general information before meeting with him.”

  While Ella went over the physical evidence she already had from the scene, Justine left to get some background on Sanders. She returned ten minutes later. “Sergeant Sanders has served with the Farmington PD for eleven years. He’s currently working days. He’s not well-liked, based on what my source said, but he gets the job done. Sanders has served in the National Guard for the last six years, and was letting his enlistment expire when they extended his service another eighteen months.”

  Justine reached into the file folder she had in her hands. “Here’s a photo. I printed it out from his records on the database. You want me to come with you?”

  Ella glanced down to familiarize herself with the face, then shook her head. “Someone in law enforcement is always difficult to Q and A. I’ll get more from him one-to-one.” Ella started out the door, then glanced back at Justine. “Keep digging on everything you can about the victim. Anything on a weapon?”

  “Nothing, not even a caliber on the perps’ bullets yet either. Joe’s going over the area one more time with a metal detector. He said that with the wind kicking up there was no telling what he’d find.”

  “Let me know if he manages to find something besides beer and soda cans,” Ella said and stepped out the side door.

  Ella reached the outskirts of Farmington twenty minutes later, and, coming in from the west, quickly found the Dry Hole. She’d heard about the tavern from other officers on the tribal PD. There was a huge TV over the bar, and half the time the games on screen led to fights below. The oil workers and gas workers in the county often met head-on with local cowboys and, more often than not, it became a free-for-all. She’d also heard that a few tribal officers had been arrested there—then released.