Death on a Pale Horse

by Douglass, Carl;

  Sweat drips into his eyes; so, he is unsure of what he is seeing. The usual water-on-the-sand mirage is there. More than one desert traveler has perished chasing after that water. However, in the middle of the shimmering mirage, he sees a man—or an apparition—on an off-white, greyish horse watching him from afar. The rider on the pale horse is carrying a lance with an eagle feather and looks like a throwback to the old ones who were here before the coming of the conquistadors. Dodge blinks to clear his eyes and gives his horse a gentle nudge with his heels. He rides up a small hill. The apparition or man or whatever he is seeing is still there. He rides down into a shallow arroyo where he can no longer see the figure. When he again reaches high ground, the figure is no longer visible. He wipes his face and looks again. The water mirage remains, but the antique Indian is gone. Dodge thinks he has been out in the sun too long.

  Naalnish meets the Biakeddy family in the UHP offices on East Canyon Commercial Avenue in Cedar City. The parking lot is busy. A tow truck is hauling an old Toyota sedan into the back lot to be torn apart to search for illicit drugs. The I-15 corridor through Utah is a major distribution artery in both directions and keeps the troopers almost as busy interdicting drug traffic as they are in dealing with DUIs.

  Naalnish waits until the three patrol cars and the tow truck clear the parking lot before finding a parking place. He is grateful to his old friend, Sgt. Moon, for getting the family together on short notice.

  “What’s this about, Officer?” Leland Biakeddy asks, assuming the role of patriarch and spokesperson for the family.

  Biakeddy is a tall, fit, very strong appearing man in his early fifties. He has a hard face, and not a handsome one. It is pockmarked from untreated acne or chicken pox from his youth. It is deeply bronzed, over and above his ethnic coloring. His hair is black with grey streaks and hangs down to his shoulders. It is held back from his wide sweating forehead by a handmade beaded headband. He is wearing a colorful Indian pattern long-sleeved shirt, faded denims held up by a wide belt with a rodeo championship buckle, and saddletan Indian Wells rough buckskin type high-heeled boots. His Navajo straw hat with a turquoise inlaid sweat band sits on the table beside him.

  Naalnish notes that three of the family members give sidelong glances to each other and one of them rolls her eyes, probably at the presumptiveness of Leland, who likely takes charge almost any place where he is in a group, Naalnish thinks.

  “I am a lieutenant in the Navajo Department of Criminal Investigations. It is my responsibility to find the killer of your relative, Sialea-lea Biakeddy; and, for that purpose, I have traveled from the NDCI headquarters to interview anyone who might be able to shed light on her murder.”

  “What have you people found out thus far?” Leland asks, none too politely.

  “I think it will be best if I ask the questions and you give the answers, sir. This is a formal police investigation, and a record will be made of what is said and done here.”

  “Officer … do you, by any chance, know who I am?”

  Naalnish’s inward response is, No, and I don’t care, but he keeps it inward.

  “I’m afraid I don’t. Have we met?”

  Leland snorted, “Not likely. I am currently a San Juan County commissioner and a member of the tribal council. And—in fact, as of yesterday—I am running for the office of president of the tribe.”

  He gives Lt. Begay a small smirk of a smile, having put the upstart cop in his place.

  Naalnish flips his notebook open and checks a few pages.

  “Ah, yes. Leland Biakeddy. I understand that there is stiff competition in that race. If you were to be elected, you would be the first person from Utah and the first Democrat to get to the office. I wish you well.”

  “I intend to,” Biakeddy says.

  None of the old humble bit for him.

  “So, tell me, Mr. Biakeddy, did your mother have any enemies? Anybody that she got crosswise with? Anybody that might have been carrying a grudge?”

  “No, sir. Everybody loved her. We all think this was a robbery gone bad, a random kind of thing.”

  Naalnish watches the faces of the rest of the family. At least three of them shake their heads almost involuntarily and look down for a moment. He makes a mental note to ask them what they know.

  “Those were general questions, Mr. Biakeddy. Because of the nature of this investigation, I am going to ask the state troopers to take each of you to a separate room; so, I can get independent information. It will make the process a little longer, and for that I apologize; but it is important.”

  “Important?!” Leland snapped. “Have you any idea how important my contribution to the tribe is and how little time I have for this nonsense? You need to get out there and find the criminal who did this. You make us sound like suspects.”

  “For the moment, I am only talking to you, sir. And in deference to your very busy schedule, I will take you aside first.”

  “Oh, you will, will you? And what if I just don’t see an interview fitting into my schedule, Officer?”

  “For the record, it’s lieutenant, Mr. Biakeddy. I repeat that this is a formal police investigation, and you are going to answer my questions. I suppose I should warn you that you have the right to have an attorney present, and if you cannot afford one, the tribe will appoint one to represent you. Now what is it going to be?”

  “Young man, you might want to rethink what you are doing. I can be a good friend or a bad enemy for a young police officer trying to climb the ladder in his career. Perhaps your roots don’t go deep enough, but you might give a thought to one of our Navajo taboos: the important Navajo elders and respecters of the ways of the people say that if coyote crosses your path, you should turn back and do not continue your journey. Maybe I am your coyote.”

  “I am aware of that tradition, Mr. Biakeddy. You didn’t finish the description. The rest of it says that if you keep traveling, something terrible will happen to you. You will be in an accident, hurt, or killed. Telling that allegory suggests a threat to me. You wouldn’t be threatening me, would you, Mr. Biakeddy?”

  “Of course not, you dolt. Let’s get on with the questioning. Big waste of time.”

  The three family members who had rolled their eyes at each other when Leland usurped the position of spokesman for the family and again when he made the pronouncement that everyone loved his mother and that this could only have been a random robbery gone wrong did so again. Their expressions go unseen by Leland because they are behind him, but their body language seems intended for Naalnish. He makes another jot in his mental notebook to ask them about it.

  None of the family members are all that happy to be going off to separate rooms to waste their day, but none of them seems particularly upset about what they deem to be a necessary evil.

  Naalnish signals a patrolman to have him find a formal interview room. The important tribal office candidate is not the least bit happy to be required to go to a stark room with a two-way mirror.

  “Now, let’s begin for real. Here’s how it goes. I ask, you answer. And, I might add: you answer truthfully. You can have that lawyer I talked about, and if you do, this interview will be videotaped.”

  “You can’t do that. It might get leaked. I have enemies and serious opponents, you know. Forget about the lawyer; I don’t need one. Ask away; I have nothing to hide.”

  “Did you kill your mother, Mr. Biakeddy?”

  “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners, Officer? That’s a dangerous insult.”

  “And one you must answer today or during another session which will include a court stenographer and a video camera. Did you kill your mother? Yes or no will do.”

  “I most certainly did not,” he said. “What a thing to ask a grieving son.”

  Naalnish was aware that he has rattled the self-important politician.

  “Who did?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Of course you do. You have thrown your hat into the ring of the most highly co
ntested election in the history of the tribe. It’s more than the usual accusations and counteraccusations of fraud and malfeasance, inept administration, cronyism, and all the rest of it. You are on one side of the most burning issue the tribe faces—how to educate our children. You have real enemies. Your mother—bless her soul—was not an outspoken supporter of you and your opinion. She was a member of the Save the Minds of the Navajo Children activist group. You are more inclined towards the Navajos of 1491 group. She must have been an embarrassment if not an outright detriment to your campaign. Right?”

  “We had differences of opinion, sure, but she was a headstrong woman who wanted to take us back to the days when our kids were sent off to state and church schools; so, they could become good little second-class white kids. She wanted all that science, English lit, world history, and American flag-waving claptrap. She wouldn’t listen to reason; and yes, she was hurting my bid to set the Navajo Nation back on the right path. What of it?”

  “You killed her to shut her up, didn’t you, Leland?”

  Naalnish expects an outburst; instead, he gets back a glacial-ice response.

  “I did not. I will win the election in spite of her and her so-called progressives. I loved my mother; and once I am elected, it will all be a thing of the past. Families are like that. You don’t seem to know any more about family life than you do about the inner life of the Navajo, Begay.”

  “If you didn’t kill her, which of your jingoistic supporters was capable of doing such a thing? I need names. I will be back after you in the most inconvenient times and places if I don’t have other persons of interest to question. I am going to find out who killed Sialea-lea Biakeddy no matter how important or how obscure the killer or killers might be. I don’t give a pine nut for anybody’s position in life. Murderers have to pay. Now, give me names; so, I can get you on your way.”

  Leland grits his teeth and then shrugs and says, “Any one of the old medicine men—there are twenty-four certified shamans—and who knows how many others. Start with the most absolute ones like Tsosie Halne’é, or Benally Many Feathers. And there’s the newspaper woman, Lashena Tall Woman. She more or less speaks for the Navajos of 1491 group. Mind you, I don’t belong to that group; but I can’t disagree with their principles of having our Navajo boys and girls learn their ancestral language, their heritage, and their real identities. They are not second-class whites; they are Navajos and should be proud of it. If I’m elected, I will see to it that the schools cool down the white world science, English language, and corrupt morality of that world. We will return to the good days of our tribe, or I will know the reason why!”

  He is genuinely worked up now. Naalnish considers that someone will have to get down to brass tacks with the 1491ers. He decides he knows just the person to do it. McGee is coming into the res tomorrow, and he can rattle their cages.

  Chapter Eight

  McGee, Caitlin O’Brien, and Ivory White fly the corporate jet from New York to Cedar City, Utah, in response to the call from Naalnish Begay. They touch down and walk to Sphere One Aviation. Naalnish completes another interview with one of Sialea-lea Biakeddy’s daughters—one of the three siblings who were expressing their disagreement or disapproval of their brother when he usurped the role of family spokesman during the initial interview. He gets a text from McGee that the private detectives are in the city. The airport’s passenger terminal is only two miles from downtown Cedar City off Highway 56 on Aviation Way, and Naalnish and the three McGee associates are waiting in the other new terminal—Sphere One Aviation, the airport’s FBO [Fixed Base Operation]—with amenities for private pilots.

  “Hey, wild Indian, you don’t look that bad for all the wear and tear of working out here on the edge of the earth,” McGee says, and gives Naalnish a quick man-hug.

  “Getting away from the Federal Bureau of Ineptitude and becoming one of the ‘Full Blooded Indian’ cops keeps me from going nuts most of the time and having to put up with all the B-S you and I worked with for those years when we both thought we would get to be the DFBI.”

  “But, I gather from your call that you ‘Full Blooded Indian’ types have multiple layers of bureaucracy. We’re here and ready to help.”

  “And, you can’t imagine how much I appreciate you coming. You know this is an off-the-books operation; and, on my pay, I can’t afford you.”

  “We’re friends. And besides, it’s great to be out here where the air is clear, the landscape is empty, and apparently so are the heads.”

  “Remember to try and see these people through their own prismatic vision. You will understand them better. You’ll have to go slow, be Indian-type tactful, even if they aren’t. What matters—beyond all the federal government, tribal, and political nonsense and interference—is that we get the killer or killers of three good people at the end of the day.”

  Ivory and Caitlin clear the conference table in the FBO building, and the four of them set to work on the planning. Naalnish brings the McGee detectives up-to-date on the findings directly related to the crime thus far, and includes a short tutorial on the ongoing struggle among different factions of Indians within the reservation area, between the Indians and the assistant attorney general and the FBI liaison, and federal law enforcement versus the Navajo Nation Police. He gives them a list of members of the 1491 group and draws a rough map of how to get to them.

  “You’ll need to look like Westerners at least. Get some Levis and snap button shirts and some scruffy looking boots. They’ll laugh at you if you come all duded up in shiny pants and snakeskin boots. I’ll finish up here by late afternoon today, and we can meet in Blue Mesa day after tomorrow. By then, my assistant Dodge Maryboy and I will have touched base with each other; and we can see what we’ve learned. You don’t have to buy horses or all-terrain vehicles; I can get both, and you are going to need them. Think of it as an adventure.”

  They laugh and part ways.

  Most of the rest of the Biakeddy family interviews go quickly. They are largely uninformative by their nature as Navajos, or because they are protective of family privacy, or because they specifically do not want to discuss the relationship of Leland with his mother and other members of the Save the Minds of the Navajo Children NGO. At three-thirty, he lets all the others go but quietly asks the three daughters to hang back; so, he can talk to them away from the rest of the family.

  Agnes Biakeddy Tsinajinnie, Delphine Biakeddy Bahane’, and the youngest daughter, and still unmarried, Raven Biakeddy, are tired and want this long process of interrogation to be over; but they are angry about the death of their mother; and they want answers. If Leland or his cronies have anything to do with her death, well, so be it.

  “Let’s not waste any more of your time. I have been a detective for a long time, and a Navajo for a lot longer. I have learned a lot about reading people in that time. You three are not in agreement with the others. There is something you know—or maybe suspect—about your mother’s death that you haven’t wanted to talk about while the rest of your family was hanging around. Please help me to put your mom’s spirit to rest. We can’t just let this go.”

  Agnes looks at her sisters, and they give her a slight nod.

  “Lt. Begay, we have been worried for a long time about what Mom was doing. There are res people who are determined to keep our kids Navajos and away from mainstream American life. Mom told us that she was scared because some of the really fundamentalist men and women have become more than pushy and argumentative; they were threatening. It would never be anything that could be used in a court—all hints, innuendo, and Indian superstition. She got notes from a few of them with little references to old taboos, like ‘you’re getting yourself onto a high place.’ It is taboo to stand on high rocks. The traditional Navajos believe that the rocks will grow into the sky with them. Another message said that ‘while she is up on that high place, she might roll a rock from a mountain. The holy people put them there, and it will be bad luck. Every high spot on the reservation
and every unusual formation is considered as a religious symbol to the traditional people.’ The implication was strong that something bad would happen to her if she didn’t stop this bad Save the Minds of the Navajo Children NGO business.

  “The most recent message; and the one that worried Mom the most, warned her that ‘she should be careful not to stare at the moon because real Navajos know that if they do stare at the moon, it will follow you.’ It was less than a day after that—during the full moon—when Mom told us that she saw an old Navajo warrior sitting bareback on a white or light grey horse holding a tall lance with some eagle feathers attached to the shaft near the point. She told us that that was the moon sending a killer in the form of a man on a pale horse. Raven is the only one of the family that turned Christian—she joined the Mormons—and she showed us a passage from their Bible. It was Revelations, Chapter 6, verse 8. I’ll never forget the chill that we all felt when we read it. ‘And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.’ When we tried to talk to Leland about what we all perceived as a threat, he told us that we had over-active imaginations; and we needed to shut up about that kind of thing while the election process was under way. It might hurt his chances. He didn’t give a fig about our mother’s life.”

  Naalnish asked for a list of the people who worked directly with Leland in his campaign and also a list of everybody that had been threatening or angry with their mother. They already had a list of names, and Leland Biakeddy’s name led them all.