Nursery Rhyme Murders Collection_3-4-2017

by McCray, Carolyn

  The team was going into hostile territory. There was a long history here, one that included treachery, biological warfare and genocide.

  And they were walking straight into it, with nothing more than their collective skills and badges. Hell, Joshua didn’t even have the badge. It was a fool’s errand.

  Who better to take it than a fool like her?

  * * *

  The steering wheel was hot and sticky under Had’s fingers. One-hundred-plus degrees with a hot blazing sun beating down had a tendency to do that.

  He was driving again. It allowed Coop to go over the list of foster kids in the case file, as well as giving Had an excuse to go a little faster than Coop liked. She was such a stickler when it came to stuff like that. Although she’d said next to nothing to him, the entire trip. Come to think of it, she hadn’t really talked much to him or anyone else on the team for the last few weeks.

  Coop hadn’t been the same since their last case. Something had happened along the way that had sapped her of her normal decisiveness. No longer was she the steady foundation on which the team was built. And it seemed like everyone could feel it.

  Regardless of that, Had was doing his best not to vibrate. Not because he didn’t like to vibrate. Sometimes it was the only valid response to intense excitement. But Joshua hated it, and Had didn’t really feel like getting into a fight with the former agent.

  He’d save that for a time when Joshua really needed to blow off some steam. Then it would be like helping out. It would be a win-win situation at that point. Joshua would take out his aggression on someone who would forgive him, and Had would get to pretend he was in a fight with his nonexistent big brother.

  It had always been one of his biggest fantasies. He had known pretty early on that Mama wasn’t going to have more kids. She’d made that clear. But what if there’d been another sibling that had come along before Had and had just gotten… misplaced? He wouldn’t put that kind of thing past his Mama. He’d been left at more gas stations than he knew how to count in his life.

  “We’re almost there. We should be coming up on the bridge that goes over the San Juan, and then we take a right turn to stay on the 64,” Joshua said, reaching over the seat to nudge Had’s arm, bringing him out of his reverie and back to the reason he was so excited. He looked in the rear view mirror and straightened his bolo tie.

  And then the bridge came into view. Actually, there were two bridges, the east side and the west. The one they were traveling over had steel girders that rose up above them. The other side was flat as a pancake. Strangest bridge Had’d ever seen.

  This was his first time on a reservation. He’d always been fascinated by Indians, all during his growing-up years. Every chance he’d gotten to check out books at the school library, at least one of them had been about the peoples Columbus had discovered after making the trek across the ocean.

  And now Had was going to see what it was like, up close and personal. This was shaping up to be greater than going to a theme park.

  Not that Had would know all that much about theme parks. Mama had promised him a Disneyland trip every year since he was five. He still hadn’t gone. Not that he was upset about it, mind you. She’d been a single mother trying to make ends meet.

  But now there was something that was not only thrilling, it was a part of his job. It was a miracle that he wasn’t doing his happy dance right there in the car.

  They passed a That’s a Burger joint off to the right side, with a horse ranch to the left, surrounded by a fence made of random sticks and wire. The horses, however, were gorgeous. Beautiful mustangs of all different colors ran about the enclosure.

  After the ranch came their turn off, where they then took a right, following the highway where it continued west. Another two miles, and then they were off the main highway and traveling along a smaller side road to their destination. They had gone perhaps a quarter mile when Had saw a cluster of police cruisers blocking the road ahead.

  Coop roused herself from her near-comatose state to ask, “How fast were you going?”

  “I wasn’t speeding,” he protested. “At least not once I got onto reservation lands. Besides, it’s a road block, not a speed trap.”

  “It’s the Tribal Police,” intoned Joshua from the backseat. Bella had perked up and was scratching at the window, probably hoping to get out for a walk.

  “Not yet,” muttered Coop. “I’m not ready for this.”

  A lean, dark Native American, with long hair pulled into a ponytail and chiseled features, stepped out from the roadblock, his moves filled with a feline grace. Had groped around for the rental agreement, while pulling out his driver’s license. He was just about to roll down the window when his cell phone went off. The theme to Psycho. His mama’s ringtone.

  Crapola.

  “Coop, would you answer that for me?” Had begged. But there was no response. It was like she was off in another world. And the officer was almost to their car.

  Grunting out a word that was less than polite, Joshua reached over and scooped up the phone. “Ms. Hadderly? Had’s gonna have to call you back. He just got stopped at a roadblock.”

  Even with the phone not being on speaker, Had could hear his Mama’s voice as she screeched, “You let him drive? Are you insane?”

  Joshua muttered something else into the phone as Had’s attention was drawn to the imposing figure on the other side of the window, tapping the glass with a nightstick. It was the policeman, and he didn’t look happy to see them.

  Had rolled down the window, doing his best to look friendly. It didn’t seem to make much of an impact on the guy. It was like his frown was carved out of some kind of stone, every line distinct and unmoving.

  “License and registration?” the man asked, holding out his hand. In the backseat, Bella went nuts, barking her head off. Joshua tried to calm her while still dealing with Mama. The officer glanced at the dog, then turned his attention back to Had, who handed the papers over.

  “So, Officer, I’m an officer too,” he said, trying to open up a line of communication. “We’re here--”

  “I know why you’re here,” the cop cut him off. “What do you think the roadblock’s for? You’re with the FBI, coming out here to interfere with something that’s none of your business.”

  “Oh, I’m not FBI, Officer,” Had said. “I’m a cop. From Michigan.”

  That only seemed to throw the cop off for a brief moment. “Then you’ve got no right to be here. We didn’t invite you here. We don’t want you here.”

  Had cleared his throat, hoping that Coop would step in. But she still seemed to be doing the mute routine. He’d just have to get through this solo.

  “Um… yeah. Technically we don’t have to be invited.” He looked into the police officer’s eyes and didn’t like what he saw there. “I guess. I mean, I think.”

  “It’s time for you all to leave. No matter who you’re with or why you’re here, you’re still white. And you’re still on tribal land.”

  “Yeah…” Had groped for something to say when inspiration struck. “But she’s not white,” he said, pointing to Agent Cooper. “And she’s FBI.”

  Joshua glared at Coop, and then leaned forward. “What’s your name, officer?”

  After a pause, the policeman looked away. “Clah.”

  “Well then, Officer Clah, why did you feel the need to set up a roadblock?”

  He twisted the silver and turquoise ring on his middle finger. “I wanted to talk to you. I got word that you were coming out here to interrogate Kai… Ms. Bileen.”

  “We’re not interrogating anybody,” Had said, trying to diffuse the situation. “We just wanted to talk to Ms. Bileen about her foster child who turned up dead.”

  “Sorry, Officer. We mean no disrespect,” Joshua called up from the backseat, surprising everyone in the car with his apology. Had was trying to remember, but as far as he could think, he’d never heard Joshua even come close.

  “If you mean no disrespec
t, then turn around and go back the way you came,” Clah responded.

  “I get it,” Joshua said. “This is a conflict that goes way back. We’re not going to resolve it right this second.”

  “But we do need to talk to the foster mom,” Had added, trying to communicate with the former agent without talking directly to him. Joshua was being downright nice to the police officer. Which was great, but they had a job to do.

  And why wasn’t Coop doing anything?

  “You want to know what happened to Jaime?” Officer Clah said, his jaw muscle clenching. “You should ask that prick Piven back at CYFD.”

  “What do you mean?” Had responded.

  The officer paused, taking a breath. “Nothing. He just…” Clah rubbed his hand over the top of his hair. “The people at CYFD are constantly pulling kids belonging to the Diné out of their homes and putting them into the foster care system.”

  “Diné?” Had asked.

  Reggie chimed in from the backseat, where she was helping Joshua calm down Bella. “It means the people. Navajo.”

  Clah’s eyes widened at that. “You know a lot for a white girl.”

  “Háisha’ bilagáanaa daolé? Shi él Diné nishłį,” she answered.

  “Nishą’ Diné nílí?”

  “Yes, I’m Diné,” Reggie said, switching back to English. “I was raised by my grandmother, who taught me Navajo. I wasn’t brought up on the rez, but I know our traditions.”

  “Wait. You’re Indian?” Had squawked.

  “No, Had. She’s Native American,” Joshua responded.

  Well this was odd. It was the first time Had was on the offending end. And to get reprimanded by Joshua? It was like he’d just stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone or something.

  “Don’t worry about it, Had,” Reggie soothed. “I don’t love being called Indian, but plenty of the Diné use it. It’s no biggie.”

  Officer Clah scratched at an ear, clearly nonplussed. “The fact that you’re Diné changes things a bit. And the other fact that you’re beautiful doesn’t hurt either,” the tribal officer’s eyes twinkled at Reggie, and Had watched as Joshua’s jaw muscle clenched up. “But I’m afraid it’s not enough that I’m going to let you past.”

  “We understand, Officer. We’re sorry to intrude,” Joshua said, speaking over the back seat. Every other member of their team stared at him, stunned. But Clah nodded and turned to go back to the roadblock.

  Had called out to him. “Excuse me, sir. What did you mean about the CYFD?”

  Officer Clah pivoted on his heel, pursing his lips. “The government pays a lot for Native American foster kids. A lot more than they do for anyone else. And it just seems like we get our kids taken away from us a lot more than any other race does. Doesn’t seem right.”

  “Really?” he asked. “They get more money per child?”

  The man shrugged. “It’s your government doing it. Ask them.” He stalked off, moving once more with a grace that Had envied.

  Okay, it maybe hadn’t been the ideal first encounter he’d hoped for, but his fascination with Indians… no, Native Americans… had done nothing but grow.

  Of course, now they had no way of getting in to talk to Ms. Bileen. He turned around to talk to Joshua. “What are we supposed to do now? We have to get in there to question that foster mom.”

  “I know that,” the former agent answered, his tone calm. “But we weren’t going to get past that roadblock. Better to treat them with kindness and then figure out another way around.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But for now, I say we give them time to cool down while we go talk to that guy at CYFD.”

  Weird. Joshua’s plan sounded reasonable. Like something a leader would come up with. And Coop hadn’t said a word after she’d asked Had if he was speeding.

  Maybe they were in an episode of The Twilight Zone after all.

  CHAPTER 2

  The office building for the Children, Youth and Families Department in Farmington wasn’t the worst government building Joshua had ever seen. But it was still a government building.

  It seemed there were unwritten laws and regulations involved with creating architecture for the government. The building must be some neutral color. Brown, tan, grey or off-white seemed to be the color palettes of choice. This one had two tones. A deep brown with tones of red, with a lighter cream stripe running across the center.

  It also appeared necessary to make the edifice as boxy as possible. That one made some amount of sense. Maximize the space and all. Joshua almost approved.

  The final requirement was that the design should suck the life out of every person who either had to look at the building, or even worse, was asked to enter through the front double doors. What awaited inside was invariably worse.

  This time was no different. The halls were an aggressive shade of bone that said, we’re too passive to fight for color, and too lazy to want something white that we have to clean. Presto! Bone it is.

  An attractive Native American receptionist greeted them at the main reception desk. Glancing down at Joshua’s dog, she made an “O” with her lips.

  “I’m afraid you can’t bring your dog in here. You’ll have to tie it up outside.”

  Joshua looked to Coop, who had been sticking up for Bella after fighting her presence on the team tooth and nail. Nothing. Not even a glimmer of a response.

  This was getting ridiculous.

  “Actually, Bella here is in training for the FBI’s K9 unit,” Joshua vamped.

  Once the receptionist understood who they were, the wattage on her smile went down several notches. She pointed them back to where they needed to go.

  The man behind in the office that they were referred to identified himself as Phillip Piven. Before they could say anything at all, or even react for that matter, he held up a hand to forestall them.

  “I’m not related to Jeremy Piven,” he said. “Well, not that I know of, anyway.”

  “Ah, that’s… I see,” Agent Cooper responded. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

  Progress. Of a sort. She had at least responded to the social worker, who was now extending a hand for her to shake.

  His eyes flickered from her chest back up to her face. Subtle, Joshua thought.

  The man took Joshua’s hand, avoiding eye contact. The grip was lifeless. Joshua had experienced toilet paper with more strength than this guy’s handshake.

  “Same,” Piven said. “Although the circumstances…” His face was a mask of sorrow. Joshua wasn’t sure what it was… maybe the falseness of his expression, maybe the fact that he was staring at Coop’s rack… but the man was bugging him.

  “It’s what brought us out here,” Joshua said, after waiting a long moment for Coop to continue. Well, if she wasn’t going to conduct the investigation… “What can you tell us about the boy who was killed?”

  The man still wouldn’t make eye contact with him. What was up with this guy? Joshua’s irritation ratcheted up another notch.

  “Jaime Kanaswood? He was a tough one. In and out of… let me see…” Mr. Piven pulled out a file and leafed through its contents. “… five different foster families before ending up at Kai’s group home.”

  “What were the issues with him?” Joshua asked, doing what he could to control his irritation with the man. The weasely man was now looking at Had. Didn’t seem to have any trouble making eye contact with him. Good little beta had figured out who the alpha male was, apparently.

  “Hey, I like your spurs,” Piven said, pointing down at Had’s boots.

  “Thanks!” Had answered, clearly pleased someone had noticed.

  “Sorry,” the social worker said. “You were asking about Jaime’s problems. There are almost too many to name.” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were none of his concern. “Drugs and alcohol were the least of it. He would run away more than he would stay. There were multiple arrests for breaking and entering, assault, resisting arrest--”

  “He was angry,” Joshua cut him off.
“That’s clear enough.”

  “Well, sure,” he answered. “But that’s maybe an oversimplification. Some of these Indian kids get into crime at a young age.”

  “Maybe.” Piven’s line of reasoning wasn’t sitting well with Joshua. “But if he was angry, there may have been something for him to be angry about.”

  “Of course there was. He was in foster care. These kids are all angry.” Phillip said it like it was a no-brainer.

  No admission that any of that responsibility landed on the CYFD. Joshua tried another tack.

  “Any arrests since he got to the group home?”

  “Ah…” the man murmured as he re-consulted his records. “Doesn’t look like it. One instance of truancy right before he was killed, but considering everything else, that doesn’t seem like it should even count.” He chuckled to himself, the sound nasal. Man. Everything this guy did was like nails on a chalkboard to Joshua.

  “And what do you know about the way he was killed?”

  This seemed to make the social worker uncomfortable. “Well, that’s a tricky topic.”

  “What’s tricky about telling us how the kid died?” Joshua asked.

  “Well, it has to do with a bunch of Indian superstitions. So it makes some of the more rational people on the rez cranky, and it just seems like a whole lot of crazy for anyone else.”

  “Superstitions?” Had asked, his face a Christmas tree, lit up and glowing. “That’s so cool. Like what exactly?”

  “The kid was killed on the rez, shot in the head,” Phillip said. “They found traces of white powder all around the bullet hole.”

  “Residue from--” Joshua began.

  “Skin-walker,” Reggie interrupted, her face rapt.

  “What?”

  But Phillip was nodding his head. “Yes. Very astute observation, young lady.” His gaze lingered on the beautiful brunette longer than was comfortable for Joshua. He now liked the social worker even less.

  “I don’t understand,” Agent Cooper said, frowning. The sound of her voice almost made Joshua jump. Shouldn’t be the case with the one who was supposed to be leading the investigation.