Shooting Chant

by Aimée

As she started up the stone outlined path to the front door, Jesse Woody came out and met her.

  “What brings you here tonight, Investigator? Surely no one complained about the noise. Our home is at least five miles from our closest neighbor.”

  Ella noticed that the sound level inside had suddenly dropped. “Am I interrupting something?” Ella asked.

  “Just a small gathering of friends dropping by.”

  “A weekday party, is that it?”

  “You bet. Now what can I do for you?”

  Ella opened the envelope in her hand, brought out a pocket flashlight, and showed him a photo of the man she’d been forced to shoot and kill at the landfill. “I understand that you know this man.”

  Jesse looked at the photo, pushed her flashlight aside, and took a step back. “You know better than to bring something like that here.”

  “Keep in mind that I could have asked you to view the body instead of just the photo. Now talk to me. Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  “Think again, very carefully this time. Obstructing justice is a serious offense, and could result in some jail time for you.”

  Jesse met her gaze with a steely one of his own. “If you already know the answer, then why bother asking me?”

  “I want his name—not the name he went by, his real name.”

  Jesse gave her a startled look. “I’m not sure what you mean. He told me his name was Tom LaPoint.”

  “Where did he work?”

  Jesse shrugged. “Maybe nowhere. He came by the mine several times during the past few weeks, and tried to get me to hire him. I didn’t formally interview him or consider him for a job because he never filed an employee application.”

  “Do you usually fraternize with people who are asking you for a job?” she asked, playing a bluff.

  Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “Be more specific.”

  “I have a better idea. You start being more specific, and I won’t haul you to the station in Shiprock.”

  His expression hardened. “Don’t threaten me.”

  “It wasn’t a threat. It’s a guarantee. Ask anyone inside if I ever bluff.”

  Jesse said nothing for several long moments. “I saw him at the mine on a few occasions, as I said. The only other time I met him was once when I took my horse for a ride out into the desert. The guy was out there in an old pickup, driving up and down the dry arroyos, passing the time. He followed me home afterwards, which I didn’t like. I wanted him away from here, so I accepted his invitation to meet him at the Totah Cafe. We had a cup of coffee, then I left.”

  “What did you two talk about?”

  “He was curious about life on the Rez. He said I was lucky because I would always have a place to call home and that was something a lot of people didn’t have these days. I reminded him that the U.S. government restricted us to this place a long time ago, and that it wasn’t our choice to live on a reservation. He then talked a bit about freedom for minorities, but, as he spoke, I got the distinct impression that this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. As he said repeatedly, he didn’t belong here. I finally asked him why he stuck around and, after a few moments of thinking about it, he told me that, for now, this was where he was supposed to be.”

  “What the heck does that mean?”

  “Beats me. Maybe he was getting metaphysical. I just wanted to go home, and asking him would have meant staying even longer at the Totah Cafe.”

  “You really have no idea what he was referring to?”

  “No, I don’t, and I’m being honest with you. The guy was a weird one. He struck me as one of these dispossessed people who wants to be part of something, but has no idea what. So they go from one thing to the next without any kind of plan or direction.”

  Ella nodded. She’d met people like that before. “Thanks for your help.”

  Ella was about to call it a night when her brother Clifford came out of the house and walked over to them.

  “Sister,” he said, then glanced at Jesse. “I think she should come in and hear what’s been happening.”

  Jesse shook his head. “She’s your sister, but she’s also a cop. Tonight she’s here on business, not as a friend.”

  “The police department is not our enemy,” Clifford said calmly, then looked at Ella. “Come inside with us.”

  Ella looked at Jesse, who nodded curtly, obviously still against the idea, but unwilling to argue with Clifford about it.

  When Ella stepped inside the Woody’s home, she saw several men she recognized, including Billy Pete. At least four of them were wearing knives at their belts. It wasn’t uncommon out here for men to have hunting or folding knives with them, but it made her a bit edgy. Someone who looked like Jimmie Herder was in the kitchen, but she only caught a glimpse before he stepped back out of her view.

  “Tonight, we met here as friends who share the same concern,” Clifford said. “Nothing more.”

  Ella understood the warning not to bring up the Fierce Ones, or mention them as a group.

  “Lilly Mae Atso came by here several days ago and spoke to Jesse,” Clifford said. “She was very worried because she’d taken her goats to the fairgrounds to feed on the hay and grain leftover from the livestock show and, while there, noticed a lot of dead insects and some baby birds that had died in their nest. She was convinced that the fairgrounds have become evil and wanted us to warn others.”

  “Remember that the Anglo man from the plant got killed in the parking lot not far from there,” Jesse said.

  “What makes you think these things are related?” Ella asked.

  “You know better than to ask that,” Clifford clipped.

  “She doesn’t see the link because she believes, like many others, that we had something to do with that Anglo’s death,” Jesse spat out, disgusted. “But that’s just not true. We want Navajos to get the high-paying jobs on the reservation, but we don’t kill people in order to make that happen.”

  “Relax. I haven’t accused anyone,” Ella said firmly.

  “Let me continue and maybe you’ll begin to see the connections,” Clifford said. “Evil corrupts and that’s exactly what’s been happening. Our people have started turning against each other and traditionalists are blamed for a lot of things we know they couldn’t have done.”

  “You’re talking about the livestock killings, right?” Seeing her brother nod, she added, “Do you have any evidence that proves the traditionalists in question were framed?” she asked.

  “Not your type of evidence, but do you realize that every single instance of violence tracks back to the fairgrounds in one way or another?”

  “The animals were killed on their owner’s property.”

  “Yes, but all the people involved in the trouble were present at the fairgrounds exhibition at one point or another during the two-day event.”

  “I know. They were competing against each other and, as I understand it, the main source of contention seems to be the methods used to breed and raise the animals. But trying to link the violence to the fairgrounds itself is reaching.”

  Clifford shook his head. “The evil that’s at work there fosters violence. Each one of those people is gentle by nature. Can’t you see that there’s more working here than mere differences of opinion?”

  “I’m a cop, and I deal only with hard facts, not spiritual beliefs. If you want me to look into something specific…”

  “I’m telling you what you need to do to find answers, Sister. You can’t just focus on one aspect. Look beyond that—”

  Ella held up her hand, and nodded. “I’ll check out the fairgrounds and look things over. But I think you’re refusing to see what’s right in front of you. Since the beginning of time, opposing viewpoints have made people do a lot of crazy things.” She paused, looking at the hostile faces of those around her. “Will there be a Blessingway done at the fairgrounds?”

  Clifford shook his head. “Not yet. We need to know more about what we’re facing.”

/>   Ella didn’t comment. They were all chasing shadows, but that’s the way it often was with mysticism of any kind.

  “I promise I’ll check out the area and see what I can find. Just remember that I’m dealing with people who are killing livestock.”

  “What about the dead insects and birds?” Clifford insisted. “How do you explain that?”

  “A soil contaminant?” she suggested. “I don’t have an answer for you yet, but when I do, I’ll let you know.”

  She didn’t believe in esoteric evil, but whenever wildlife started dying for no discernible reason it merited a closer look. Maybe there was a link between that and the deformities affecting newborn livestock.

  None of this exonerated the Fierce Ones, however. They were still suspects. It was entirely possible that they’d contaminated the soil themselves so they could blame LabKote. If that were the case, she knew they would have selected a contaminant of short duration, then used the ensuing crisis to blame LabKote. Citizens would have rallied behind the Fierce Ones and, as an extra bonus, they would have been asked to deal with whatever “evil” had been unleashed there. By the time they had the right ceremonies performed, the contaminant would have broken down and they’d come out as the good guys. They would have accomplished their goal of shutting down the plant by turning people against it, and then used The People’s own fears to force them to embrace the old ways more closely.

  If that was their plan, though, what part did they want her to play in it? Were they going to try and use her to implicate LabKote and add legitimacy to their plot?

  “Look into this, then let me know what you learn,” Clifford said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “All right,” she said, giving her brother a long, thoughtful look. Did Clifford realize how bad things were beginning to appear for his group? Somehow she doubted it. He had a tendency to see only what he wanted to see. She doubted he was aware of even half the possibilities running through her mind. “I’ll have the county lab techs do a workup. Maybe somebody at the fairgrounds just misused some bug spray.”

  “See it through yourself,” Clifford warned. “The Anglos who work for the county don’t care—they can’t care—not like we do. This is our land, the Diné Tah, and it’s up to us to find the answers.”

  Ella said nothing, but noticed the nods and general agreement on the faces of the others. To try and explain to them that the county people knew their jobs was useless right now. All she’d do was stir up more ill will for the PD. “I’ll look into this myself, but they’ll have to run the tests. That’s out of my field.”

  “Understood.”

  There was another possibility she had to consider, too. It was possible that LabKote had leaked something into the soil. But if that turned out to be the case, it would be a separate problem altogether. A spill on the fairgrounds still wouldn’t exonerate Norma, Nancy, or the others who had gone after each other’s livestock or property. It would be just one more problem to face, on top of the kidnapping, the murders, and the rest of the strife between the traditionalists and the modernists.

  Leaving the gathering, Ella drove back home. It was past eleven when she entered her house and all was quiet. Trying not to wake her mother, she walked down the hall silently, then almost tripped over Two, who was lying there in the dark.

  As she opened the bedroom door, he trotted in and jumped on the bed. Ella undressed and, wearing an old FBI Academy sweatshirt, started to crawl into bed. Realizing, however, that she wasn’t at all sleepy, she changed her mind, stood up, and went to her computer.

  After answering E-mail from friends, she switched to a computer puzzle game Wilson had given her a few months ago. The software took a photograph scanned into the computer, reduced it to components of varying sizes and shapes, then disassembled them. It then became a computer jigsaw puzzle that Ella had to reconstruct. After several weeks of work, her favorite landscape photo of Shiprock was emerging slowly on her computer screen.

  As she worked, Ella wondered how long it would take before she’d be able to piece together all the things happening on the Rez and get a clear picture that would reveal the truth.

  FIFTEEN

  SEPTEMBER 13TH

  Ella was up and on the road again the next morning after an early breakfast with Rose. The sun was just coming up as she drove north toward Ship Rock and the turn-off to the Brownhat residence. It was crisp outside, but still too early in the year for the first frost of fall.

  As she topped a low hill, Ella noticed an old green pickup by the road, the hood up. She slowed, looking for the driver, and noticed an elderly man farther ahead, walking toward town.

  Giving someone a ride if they needed it was still common on the Rez, despite the warnings against picking up hitchhikers. As an officer, she usually tried to help out unless she was on a call. Ella drove up beside the old man and saw that it was Atsidi Benally, one of the men Abigail Yellowhair had mentioned as an enemy of her kidnapped husband.

  Justine had already spoken to the man and he had an alibi, but Ella decided that this would be a good time to talk to him herself. It was hard to imagine Atsidi kidnapping anyone, or being involved in something like that. He looked thin and frail, though he was probably a lot stronger than many men over the age of sixty-five.

  “Need a ride into town, Uncle?” she asked, using the term to denote respect, not kinship. “I see your pickup decided not to go all the way this morning.”

  “I thought I recognized your Jeep,” Atsidi stopped, catching his breath. “How’s your mother?”

  “Getting stronger every day, Uncle. She’s going to be using that cane for firewood this time next year.” Ella knew that Atsidi respected Rose for her work with the Plant People, and for maintaining her traditional beliefs as much as she had, though Ella’s father had been a Christian preacher.

  “If I catch a ride to the first gas station, do I have to wear handcuffs?” Atsidi joked, coming around to the passenger side and getting in. “Your policemen have asked many questions about that weasel senator who got himself kidnapped. If you didn’t drive this way everyday yourself, I might have thought your stopping to help was no coincidence.”

  “I know you and the senator have had your troubles. I don’t care too much for the man myself, if the truth be known.” Ella nodded, checking for oncoming traffic, then pulling back out onto the highway. She noted the smell of piñon and smoke on the old man’s flannel shirt, and thought instantly of the many traditionalists who, like him, still used wood and coal stoves for heating and cooking. It was a pleasant smell, which spoke of history.

  “I heard that your brother, the hataalii, has gotten himself mixed up with those gangsters who act like cops without badges. No offense, of course.” Atsidi observed, shaking his head slowly.

  “None taken. We’ve talked about it, as you may have also heard. The Fierce Ones are no longer keeping their identities a secret. Do you think that will make them more sympathetic to The People?” Ella knew Atsidi was against any secret organizations, but had supported many traditional movements. He was a natural leader, and people listened to what he had to say, especially at Chapter House meetings.

  “The People can’t be forced to follow the old ways. It has to be a matter of choice. The Fierce Ones work like many Anglo groups who try to use fear to make others follow them, but there are better ways to accomplish the good they’re trying to do.”

  “Like kidnapping?”

  “Force is not the answer,” Benally repeated more firmly this time.

  Ella believed him. His words held the ring of truth.

  “You can stop here,” Atsidi motioned with his head toward the grocery store and gas station at the intersection just ahead, outside Shiprock. “Maybe I can return the favor if you ever have a problem with your fancy police car.”

  Ella pulled over, and Atsidi climbed out with a grunt, shutting the door a little too hard, something probably learned from habit in his own weather-beaten truck.

  Ella waited unti
l he crossed the road in front of her, then turned around and drove off in the direction she’d come. She’d passed where the Brownhat’s lived, but this short visit with Atsidi Benally had at least eliminated him in her mind as an accomplice in the Yellowhair kidnapping. It just wasn’t his style. He was too direct. Of course, there was always the possibility that the old man was as good at fooling her as he was at leading the traditionalists.

  * * *

  Later, after another hour at the Brownhat scene, her crime scene team met for their morning meeting. Ella looked at the somber faces around her. Although no hard evidence pointing conclusively to murder had been found at the site, they all agreed that John Brownhat had been right about the nature of his wife’s death.

  “How long before we have the autopsy report?” Ralph Tache asked.

  “Dr. Roanhorse will call as soon as she has something. She knows that time is crucial to us,” Ella said.

  “Where should we focus the next phase of our investigation?” Harry asked.

  “I want you to talk to her friends. Question anyone she was close to, and get everything that led up to the confrontation she had with Billy Pete at the Chapter House meeting.” She looked at Tache. “I want you to concentrate on finding a link between the break-in at the clinic and Elisa. I have reason to believe that Elisa was pregnant, though that hasn’t been confirmed. Her file was one of those taken during the break-in, and all the pregnancy results from those records are still missing. See what other connections you can dig up. For example, was she seeing a traditionalist who might have resented her going to the clinic?”

  “You mean was she having an affair with one?” Justine asked.

  “Find out. I want a connection, folks. Dig one out, if it exists. And remember not to let the kidnapping get far from your thoughts. We’ll have to give that our time, as well.”

  Tache and Ute walked out, but Ella called Justine back.

  “Wait. Before you get started checking on Elisa, I want you to come and help me with something else.” Ella filled her in on what she’d learned at the meeting the night before.