by Aimée
“Hold that thought,” she said, always uneasy about discussing sensitive business over any radio network. “We can meet at the Totah Cafe in half an hour. Can it wait until then?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Ella looked back at her brother and saw the annoyance on his face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just turn off my phone.” She placed it back in her pocket. “Now tell me about the legacy.”
“It’s what’s at the root of the demand made on our family to always have two kids. You see, according to the legacy, there’s a very good chance one of us will be good and the other evil. Our family has been known for having special gifts, so the one who turns to evil can only be defeated by the child that remains true to the tribe. One is needed to balance the other. Do you understand?”
“I understand, but I don’t believe it. For one, you’re not evil and neither am I,” she said flatly. “So much for that.”
“What we believe is not important. How some people will react to us and to our children because of it, is.”
He had a point and Ella knew it. “Tell me everything about this legacy. I want all the details, particularly how it began. Maybe there’s a way to debunk it.”
Clifford stood and looked out the door. A figure, moving slowly, was about a hundred yards away, walking in their direction. “I’ve got a patient, sister. Our conversation will have to wait.”
Disappointed and frustrated by the unexpected interruption, Ella left and drove back to the highway. She was on her way north toward the cafe when she saw Philip Cloud’s patrol unit ahead on the highway, going the same direction as she. The young officer had been her friend and a trusted ally for years. She knew that, as a source of information, he was completely reliable. She closed the distance between them, and used her spotlight to signal him. Seeing it, he pulled over to the side of the road.
Ella parked on the shoulder behind his vehicle and got out as Philip walked back to meet her. “I wanted a chance to talk to you privately,” Ella said. “I need your help.”
“You’ve got it,” Philip answered. “Just tell me what I can do.”
“Things have been very quiet these past few months. We haven’t had any burglaries for a while, except for a residential break-in now and then, which is normal. Half of our people still don’t bother to lock their doors when they go out. But after the break-in at the clinic, and the livestock killings, I think we’re all going to need to stay sharp. Have you heard anything from the gangs, or are there any rumors going around that we should be paying attention to?”
“The gangs have been really quiet for the last nine or ten months. The few hardcore kids left are staying in their own neighborhoods, and vandalism is way down. The Fierce Ones have been keeping an eye on them, I think, and have managed to intimidate the gang leaders. New kids aren’t being ranked in either, now that the Fierce Ones are also pressuring parents to control their kids.”
The secret vigilante group still made her nervous, but, so far, they’d been more of a help than a hindrance. “Anything else? Anything at all?”
Philip shook his head. “The rains came in time this year, and people are busy with their harvest.”
“Have you heard anything that might give me a lead on that burglary at the clinic?”
“A friend of mine is a nurse there, and she says everyone is talking about it. The most interesting theories speculate that someone was either looking for information to establish a paternity suit, or maybe catch a straying husband.”
For a moment she considered the possibility someone would try to blackmail her, but then discarded it. Her pregnancy would be common knowledge soon enough, and she intended to ask nothing of the baby’s father. He could remain completely anonymous if he chose. There would be speculation about his identity, of course, but children were the property of the mother, from whom they would inherit someday.
“If you hear anything more let me know.”
“You’ve got it. I’ll put my brother on the alert, too. His patrol area covers the outlying districts where more of the traditionalists live and, as far as possible suspects go, they have my vote.”
“You’re thinking that the traditionalists might have targeted the clinic?” Ella really hadn’t considered the possibility.
“They’re probably innocent, but, let’s face it, the clinic does represent the Anglo way of doing things. Our older people have always regarded modern medicine with suspicion.”
“Okay, let’s see if your brother Michael can get something more for me. And tell him to also report anything he hears about the problem over the animals that were part of the agricultural society’s show.”
Ella climbed back inside her Jeep. She loved the excitement of searching for the leads that would solve a crime. It was like putting a vital puzzle together. Nothing could compare to fieldwork.
Of course, it wouldn’t be easy to remain a cop and raise a child, but other women cops had done it. She wouldn’t leave her job. The tribe needed her, and if she didn’t honor her duty, she wouldn’t be much of a mom. If there was one thing she wanted to teach her daughter, it was the value of responsibility and of being true to herself.
Once it became obvious she was pregnant, she’d have to fight not to be relegated to a desk. Fortunately, she didn’t also have to worry that any stigma would be attached to an unwed mother on the Rez. Here, sex wasn’t linked to morals. It was just a part of nature. Nature moved in harmony with its surroundings and what was part of nature was not to be condemned.
Still, the news was bound to have an effect on the baby’s father. Kevin Tolino was an extraordinary man, one who would do great things for the tribe if things went right for him. The problem was that his career ambitions included politics, and for that very reason she doubted that he’d meet the news that she was pregnant with much enthusiasm. His aspirations had been a large part of the reason why they’d broken up. She couldn’t see herself as a politician’s wife. Now, if he acknowledged that he was the father, people would wonder why they hadn’t married. It was precisely the type of thing that could become an issue all by itself and cost him votes.
With effort, she pushed aside those worries as she approached the Totah Cafe. Justine’s tribal unit was already parked outside. Ella went in and joined her at their favorite table on the south side, facing the mesa just above the river.
“What’s up?” Ella looked the menu over, hungry again. She was beginning to give new meaning to the phrase “eating for two.”
Ella ordered huevos rancheros, a mix of eggs and chile, and extra sopaipillas, a delicious fried bread often eaten with honey, then found herself having a craving for milk again. She’d drunk more milk in the past few days than in the last two years.
Justine looked at her in surprise. “Wow, I guess you’re starving. Skip breakfast again?”
“I ate breakfast,” Ella clipped, in no mood to explain. “So, tell me what’s going on? What did you find out that excited you so much?”
“I talked with Myrna for a long time this morning. It turned out that one of the staff here at the cafe found the clinic’s missing files in the Dumpster outside. They were in a plastic trash bag, and the only reason they were discovered is because the bag had been ripped open and the files were spilling out. Myrna thinks that they’re all there, but it may take a while to sort them out.”
“So if the thieves weren’t after the files, then why did they haul them away, then just throw them out? Something’s hinky about this whole thing. Did they break in to steal some minor prescription drugs and loot the cash drawer, then, on a whim, take the paperwork just to be malicious? I don’t buy that.”
“Myrna said that they also accessed the hard drive in the computer, you saw that yourself, but the clinic’s programmer found no evidence of any computer virus or tampering with files.”
“Could they have copied files off the hard drive?” Ella asked, watching the waitress bringing their food.
“There’s no way to tell. The only har
d fact we have to work with so far is that all the stolen files had just had recent lab work results inserted, and hadn’t been placed back with the other patient records.”
“So what we have to do now is figure out who would be interested in those lab tests.”
“I’ve got another tidbit to add to the weirdness quotient of this case. I pulled out the slugs I found on the wall and ran a ballistics check. The perp was using an atypical weapon for these parts. They were .380s—you know, 9-millimeter shorts.”
“Those are used in PPKs and other small, easily concealed pistols,” Ella said, thinking out loud as she reached down for a warm sopaipilla.
“Those guns are a step up from the cheap .32s a lot of gang-bangers use, and have a lot more punch,” Justine said. “Most people around here would be far more likely to own a hunting rifle or shotgun, or a .38 or .22 if it’s a pistol. Of course, most burglars don’t carry firearms anyway.”
“A lot of the .380s are expensive foreign weapons, too,” Ella said. “They’re well-designed semiautos and make good backup or off-duty pistols for the cops who can afford them,” she added, sampling her food. “What this means is that we’re facing well-financed criminals, or very successful ones.” Ella ate in silence for a while. “Okay—so we’ve got an unlikely weapon of choice,” she said at last, “and a break-in with no clear motive that involved a three-man team. Taking into account the amount of money and drugs lost, simple burglary seems more and more like a smoke screen. From what we know so far, the entire thing sounds more like an espionage operation than the work of a gang.”
After they’d finished eating, Ella placed a few bills on the table and headed to the door, Justine at her side. “Anything else I need to know?” Ella asked.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Abigail Yellowhair’s file was one of the ones found in the Dumpster, and so was yours.” Justine’s eyes stayed on her, her gaze alive with curiosity.
“I’m not sick,” Ella said. “It was just a routine test so stop speculating.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Justine said with a tiny grin.
Ella met Justine’s gaze. Was she getting paranoid, or had her cousin guessed? Pushing the thought aside, Ella started to say goodbye when her cell phone and Justine’s rang almost simultaneously.
Justine moved some distance away to avoid interference as she answered the call and Ella flipped open her own receiver. “We’ve got a situation, Shorty,” Big Ed’s voice came through loud and clear. “Seems that the Fierce Ones are picketing the tribal offices up on the mesa. The media and press from Farmington are there, and tribal officials are getting nervous.”
“That group has always kept their identities a secret. What made them change their minds and come out into the open like that?”
“They’re out, but not in the open. I was told they’re all wearing homemade masks to hide their faces.”
“Any altercations or vandalism yet?”
“No, but people there think it’s only a matter of time. They all remember the last time we had a major protest. One of the tribal leaders was accused of taking payoff money and when the council tried to fire him, his supporters staged a protest and one man was killed.”
“I’ll head up there right now.”
“I’m sending as many officers as I can spare, but it’ll be limited. I’ve called in a request to the county and the state police for backup, but for now, we’re on our own. The few officers we can muster will just have to handle the situation.”
It was always that way. As she closed up her phone, she saw Justine coming toward her. “I got a call from the station,” she said. “Some kind of demonstration is going on at the tribal offices on the mesa.”
“I know. That was Big Ed on my phone.”
“Sergeant Manuelito is in charge up there,” Justine said.
“He’s a hard-liner. I’ll bet he’s hoping to kick a few butts,” Ella said.
“He wants us in full gear, just in case.”
“Hard hats and vests?” Ella shook her head. “That’s just going to provoke them.”
Justine shrugged. “He’s in charge at the scene.”
Ella glanced in the back of her Jeep, verifying she had everything, then climbed behind the steering wheel. “Let’s get going.”
As they raced to the tribal offices, sirens on, Ella felt the tension inside her mounting. The first chance she got, she’d have to order a larger vest to cover more of her torso. For now she’d be okay, but in a few months, it would be a different story—in every imaginable way.
FIVE
Ella studied the scene before her, suppressing the chill that ran up her spine. The fifteen or more men in the picket line wore black hoods with slits that allowed them to see and breathe, but they remained silent. On their black arm bands was the symbol of the Fierce Ones, the four sacred mountains painted in white. Only the spokesperson for the Fierce Ones made no effort to hide his identity. Jesse Woody was a Navajo supervisor at the oldest coal mine.
In gear, Ella stood with six other officers in the thin human barrier Sergeant Manuelito had formed between those picketing and the entrance to the tribal offices.
The building itself was a one-story brown brick structure with a lot of glass trimmed with aluminum. In a city it could have passed for a sixties bank, or even a post office, especially with the flag pole outside on the manicured lawn.
Turning back to the current threat, she watched the eyes and stances of the demonstrators, trying to guess their next move.
“What we are protesting,” Jesse Woody told the press, “is that our leaders are giving the Diné Tah to non Navajos, a railroad car, a truck load, or a pipeline full at a time. Our land was once considered worthless, good only for sheep or Navajos. But then outsiders came, and started to dig deep holes. They discovered Mother Earth was rich with minerals and fuels like coal and natural gas. Now, in many places our land’s been gutted like an animal carcass and is barren—more like the floors inside these buildings than a place to grow crops and nourish our animals. And the Anglos and others still come with their fees, percentages, and promises, take most of the wealth from our land, and leave us with dead earth and pennies on the dollar.
“And, instead of feeling the ch’ééná, the sadness for something that will never come back, our elected officials turn around and give the Anglos new opportunities to destroy what they touch. This is our land, yet we lose a little more of it each day, and with it, we lose our young people who become more like them and less like us.”
Ella caught the wary look in Justine’s eyes. They’d both heard this type of rhetoric before. People with good intentions pointed fingers and assigned blame without offering any real solutions to the problems. She braced herself for trouble in the form of group action, but the picketers remained orderly, at least for the moment. They appeared to be more interested in making their position known to the television crew and reporters gathered there than in anything else.
The Fierce One’s spokesman continued. “What we want is to allow the Navajo People to meet, discuss it, then vote each time an outsider wants to set up a business within our borders. We also want better terms on the leases we give to outsiders, and make them subject to change or cancellation at any time by a majority vote. We want what’s best for the Dineh, yet our so-called leaders refuse to come out here and listen to us, or even invite us inside. But no one will leave this building until we are heard.”
It was that last sentence that made Ella’s body tense up. She saw the officers on both sides of her brace themselves as well, and shift to a defensive stance.
Then, unexpectedly, the door to the tribal building opened and two men stepped out. She recognized Ernest Ben, the head of economic development. The man next to him was Wilbert Benally, a member of the tribal council.
Ernest Ben came down the sidewalk and stopped before the cameras. “What we need to keep our young people here on our land are jobs. Alliances with Anglo businesses help bring those to us, as well as generate
important revenue for our tribe. Without those alliances, our young people will take their education and their dreams for the future and leave the reservation. We all need to work together, now more than ever. If we don’t find a way to do that, we’ll become our own worst enemy.”
“Words like those put our destiny in the hands of outsiders. History has shown us what happens when we place our trust in others. We need to reclaim our land,” Woody argued. “Then our gods will provide for the Dineh as they did before. The Plant People will flourish and so will our livestock.” Jesse turned and faced the cameras. “Our leaders speak to us, but don’t listen to the voices of The People.”
Suddenly three of the Fierce Ones broke ranks and ran across the parking lot where someone had just left the building via a side door. She heard angry shouts as the protestors tried to block the car the person had just climbed into.
“Take an officer and see what you can do to break that up,” Manuelito growled at her.
Ella and Justine jogged toward the disturbance, and soon saw what was going on. State Senator Yellowhair was the person who’d managed to make it as far as his car, but the three protestors were blocking his vehicle. Seeing Ella and Justine, Yellowhair waved frantically.
She had no desire to help him. The fact was she was no fan of the senator’s, nor he of her, but it was her job, in this case, to intervene. She slowed to a walk, and continued on toward his car.
“Get these jerks out of my way,” the senator yelled out to her. “Do your job.”
Ella slowed down even more. Yellowhair was in no apparent danger, and if he was late going somewhere, she certainly wasn’t going to worry about his poor sense of timing.
Hearing her name being called by someone at a window, Ella turned her head and saw Lulu Todea, a reporter for the tribal paper. Somehow, Lulu had managed to get inside the building.
“He really does need to leave now. His wife is on special medication,” she yelled out. “She needs him to pick up a prescription because she can’t find her old asthma inhaler.”
