Wolves of Winter: A Navajo Nation Mystery

by R. Allen Chappell

  Quiet contemplation followed the professor’s timeline, and the spell of those ancient people lay heavy about them.

  All this time Charlie scarcely listened to the professor or looked at the bowl, instead just stood staring at the few turquoise beads scattered about, and the impression left by something he thought must indeed be very rare. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the three beads he had picked up at the murder scene and tossed them among the others.

  Harley looked up, brightened, and guessed. “You pick them up at Erdric’s trailer?”

  Charlie nodded; everyone could see the beads were identical and from the same type turquoise.

  The professor stared at his former student and was momentarily at a loss of what to say.

  ~~~~~~

  The next day when details regarding the double homicide began coming in, Charlie perceived a decreasing interest in the death of Danny Hat. He was now apparently considered no more than a petty offender who ran out of luck. As it turned out the young Hopi was only wanted for questioning in a drug related incident, the report of which, was in itself questionable in Charlie’s view. Why the FBI had issued a warrant for so trivial a matter wasn’t clear. Charlie made note of that as well. The autopsy report had, apparently revealed a considerable level of amphetamines present in Danny Hat’s system. He had a record of drug use and amphetamines seemed to be his drug of choice. Actual cause of death was deemed heart failure, brought on by dehydration and overexertion, exacerbated by the amphetamines. The cause of death was ruled “natural causes.” There had been no indication of foul play. Now, three members of the same road crew were dead, and all within a like number of days, yet nothing connected Danny Hat to the two homicides. Charlie thought there might be more to his death than was indicated in the reports.

  The tribal investigator was just finishing with the FBI portfolio, including the preliminary autopsy results in the two shootings, when his intercom buzzed and the receptionist announced he had visitors. He glanced through the glass of his office door and drew an exasperated breath. Thomas and Harley, like most of his people, never offered advance warning of a visit, just “dropped by” whenever the mood struck them––totally without regard for a person’s plans or schedule. Charlie supposed this went back to a time when his people had no schedule and made few plans.

  Thomas was grinning as he came through the door and turned to hurry Harley along. The little man had stopped to chat with the Sash dine’é woman at the desk. She was new, and Harley thought the Bear People Clan interesting, especially one as pretty as this. He was about to make known his own clan affiliations, which was the proper thing to do when two single people met, but was interrupted when Thomas put two fingers to his lips and gave a sharp whistle.

  Harley smiled at the young woman, held up a finger and said, “I’ll catch you later Louise. My friend and I have some business with Mr. Yazzie,” thinking this sort of talk might impress her. He then turned, grinned, and said something unintelligible under his breath.

  Several of the staff had taken note of the pair’s noisy entrance and Charlie hurried to shut the door behind them, then frowned out at the girl, who blushed and turned back to the switchboard.

  “She’s a little young for you, isn’t she, Harley?” Charlie was joking, of course, but Harley Ponyboy appeared to take him seriously, looked down, and again muttered something no one heard.

  Thomas, already sprawled in a chair across from Charlie’s desk, laughed, causing Harley to shake a finger in his direction.

  “So what brings you two to the hallowed halls of justice this morning?” Charlie doubted it was anything of any great import, but had at times been surprised by the pair.

  “Oh, nothing much,” Thomas reached down and pulled off a boot to examine the toe of a sock, then tipped the boot up and shook it. “Feels like a little rock in there somewhere…” He said this as though it excused their intrusion and might serve to answer the investigator’s question, all in one.

  Charlie nodded and grinned over at Harley, who mistook this for an apology, smiled in return, then said, “The Doc told us we could meet him here this morning, he owes us money and we’re gonna’ try ta get some of it.”

  Thomas quickly interjected in the professor’s behalf. “The Doc was just a little light this week, that’s all. He’s having to bid these jobs so low he’s having trouble making the payroll…he’s just a little light.”

  Charlie again nodded, but still wondered why they chose his office to settle their finances. He glanced at the clock. “When exactly was all this supposed to take place?” He said ‘supposed to take place’ in deference to the well-known Navajo predilection for bending time to fit convenience. Some of this same concept appeared to be rubbing off on Professor Custer who seemed to have adopted a like attitude of late. Charlie thought he might be hanging out with Thomas Begay and Harley Ponyboy too much.

  Thomas himself shot a glance at the clock. “Oh, I expect he’ll be along directly, he probably had to drop by the bank…it’s almost lunch time.” Thomas smacked his lips at the thought. “Maybe he’ll take us all to lunch?”

  “It’s a little early for lunch.” Charlie felt midmorning a tad short of lunchtime; still, he wouldn’t put it past Thomas to make it happen.

  Harley pointed his chin at the tall stack of papers on the desk and said, “You writing a book?” chuckling at his own joke, apparently the only one who found it amusing.

  “No, Harley, this happens to be the FBI’s version of why they have three dead people on their hands and not a clue as to why.”

  Thomas thought this hilarious and gave Charlie a thumbs-up, then hooked the same thumb toward the door and raised his eyebrows at Harley. “The boss is here.” He waved through the glass-paneled door and beckoned the professor back to Charlie’s office.

  Dr. George Custer had the look of a man resigned to his fate. He glanced from one to the other before throwing his hands in the air. “They’ve got us shut down boys, but thank God, they shut the road crew down too. The FBI wants the rest of today to finish their investigation out at the dig…and another 24 hours to evaluate what they’ve found…then maybe they’ll decide if they missed anything and have reason to go back and re-evaluate any part of it.”

  The professor brightened and continued, “The road crew will have it even worse though. 48 hours for them, and the DOT may keep them down longer depending on how long it takes to bring in new crew. They say it’s their heavy season and they’re short-handed.” The professor chuckled despite himself as he dragged up another chair. “It might be a week before they’re up and running again. This just might give us the lead time we need to catch up out there.” His two employees sat looking at one another for a moment and considered how this new development might further affect their lives.

  Thomas finally shook loose the pebble in the toe of his boot, placed it back on his foot, and then wiggled his toe in happy affirmation. Glancing again at the clock he looked at the professor and mentioned the Diné Bikeyah would be serving lunch in thirty minutes.

  Harley was more to the point. “Doc, you didn’t happen to bring us a little money did you?”

  George Custer reached in his pocket and said, “Boys I can let you have twenty apiece, cash, right now…and I’ll buy lunch.”

  Harley smiled at this and was amenable.

  Thomas, for his part, liked nothing better than a free lunch, and both men appeared well satisfied with what they would later refer to as their negotiations.

  Charlie shook his head at the two and motioned them to the door. “Today’s payday for everyone here in the office, too. We better go now if we want to beat the crowd.”

  The Diné Bikeyah Café was, as predicted, filling fast and the men were lucky to get a table in the back. The “special” board listed the usual selection. A Navajo taco or the cheeseburger deluxe––which included fries, unlike the base model, which didn’t.

  The professor glared at the menu board. “Just once I’d like to com
e in here and see something other than cheeseburgers or Navajo tacos on special.”

  Harley scoffed, “You should have come last week, Doc. It was chicken fried steak and all you could eat fries for $5.99.” then added, “Thomas loaded up.”

  “I’m sure he did, Harley, but don’t you guys ever get tired of the same old thing?”

  Thomas eyed the professor. “George, this place would go out of business if they didn’t offer cheeseburgers on the Special.”

  The professor sighed and ordered a BLT, knowing the bacon was never done to suit him and it came with only a slice of dill pickle on the side. “So, Charlie, what’s the latest the FBI has to say about the shootings?”

  “Well, Captain Beyale sent over a copy of the preliminary reports they gave him, but the actual lab reports won’t be in for days yet. And we still don’t know how much the FBI’s actually letting out. As usual the Feds only give us what they want us to know. At least that’s been the case in the past.” Charlie had long been an advocate of more transparency among the agencies, but thought little progress was being made in that direction.

  Thomas pointed toward the crowded entrance. “Here comes trouble,” he said grinning.

  It was tribal policemen Billy Red Clay and Officer Hastiin Sosi, who immediately spotted the group and began working their way to the back of the restaurant. The policemen shook hands all around and pulled up chairs. Billy’s eye appeared to be healing; the bandage had been removed to expose a neat little row of stitches.

  “You’re looking better Nephew. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m good Uncle.” He then glanced over at Charlie. “Still no word on when my review might happen…but at least I’m not on suspension.”

  “Well, Billy, I suspect no news is good news in this case.” Charlie wasn’t sure this was true, but knew it was what the young officer wanted to hear.

  Hastiin Sosi spoke up, addressing both the professor and Charlie who sat side by side. “When you gentlemen were up at the construction site you didn’t happen to notice any turquoise beads, did you? By James Erdric’s body, I mean? I could have sworn there were seven or eight scattered around when I got the door open but the FBI photos show only four as far as I can see.”

  Charlie spoke first, “I really couldn’t say Hastiin; I guess I was more focused on the body itself.”

  Dr. Custer nodded. “I did notice a few beads but didn’t stop to count them. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason, I guess, they could have rolled under something when everyone was tromping in and out, but those boys are usually pretty careful when it comes to stuff like that.” The tribal officer sounded casual, nearly offhand, but his eyes narrowed as he looked from one to the other. “I just coulda’ sworn there were more of them.”

  Billy Red Clay interrupted and glanced over at Charlie, “I’ve been poking around a bit the last two days and have found a few things you might be interested in––though it could be just more reservation rumor.”

  Charlie perked up. “What’s that Billy? Every little bit might help, you know.”

  Billy hesitated, glanced over at his fellow officer, and continued. “You probably know Danny Hat’s mother is a full-blood Hopi and Danny’s father was Hopi as well. Come to find out the mother is pretty well thought of back home…despite her later marrying a Navajo. Her first husband died in a car accident when they still lived on the Hopi reservation. Now it seems she has family who want her to move back and run for council.”

  “You mean Danny Hat was full-blood Hopi?” Charlie was somewhat surprised to hear this, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.

  Judging from the expression on his face this was also news to Harley Ponyboy. The little man, looking perplexed, admitted, “That would explain a lot about Danny, for one thing he was always more interested in Hopi stuff than Navajo…you know, religion and things like that. His sister Luanne wasn’t that way at all, but she was younger and half Diné.” He thought a moment. “Come to think of it Luanne really wasn’t much on religion, of any kind.”

  Billy Red Clay looked at Harley. “Didn’t you and her used to hang out together? I seem to remember you two being together a lot when I was a kid.”

  Harley squirmed in his chair. “No, not really, she was one of those girls who had a lot of boyfriends.”

  Thomas grinned. “You seen her lately, little man?”

  Harley blushed. “We been out a time or two. She says she has a few problems to work out.”

  Hastiin Sosi grinned along with the rest and then grew serious. “Charlie, there is one other thing you ought to know. The man I was questioning the day you and the professor were up at the construction site was Jimmy John, a Ute who lives just across the state line, not far from the road construction site. He told me no one liked that supervisor, Karl Hoffman, or his friend James Erdric either. Neither of the two liked working with Indians, kept mostly to themselves, and didn’t mix much with the crew after work. He said Erdric was supposed to be some sort of an engineer or surveyor or something. Jimmy seemed to think Erdric had some sort of hold over Hoffman.”

  Charlie frowned, “Did he say what sort of hold?”

  “No, but he thought whatever it was gave Erdric plenty of say in what went on, almost like he was the boss instead of Hoffman.

  Dr. Custer looked across the table at the tribal policeman and persisted. “He didn’t know why that would be?”

  “He said he didn’t, but mentioned bits and pieces of a conversation between them and a man named William Crawley who came by on several occasions. This ‘Crawley’ person also seemed to defer to Erdric.”

  Charlie and Professor Custer exchanged looks and the professor cleared his throat before asking if the Ute maintenance man had mentioned anything about suspicious activities around any of the smaller ruins in the area.

  “I don’t think that ever came up professor.” Hastiin pulled a small notebook from a breast pocket and said, “I have directions to Jimmy John’s home-place written down if you would like to talk with him yourself. He’s lived around there all his life––his family runs cows all over that country.” The officer jotted down instructions on how to find Jimmy John’s camp and passed them to Charlie who looked them over, nodded, and passed them along to the professor.

  Putting the directions in a shirt pocket, the professor thanked both officers saying if there was ever anything he could do for either of them they shouldn’t hesitate to ask.

  ~~~~~~

  Charlie Yazzie and George Custer said very little on the way back to Legal Services.

  Finally, Charlie asked him straight out, “George, we’ve known each other a long time…I’m getting the impression something’s bothering you…I mean beyond the dig and keeping ahead of the road crew.”

  Custer remained silent, watching out the side window as they passed through the dusty, windblown streets of Shiprock. He finally turned to Charlie but reflected on the question another moment before answering, “I guess being constantly outbid on these projects lately could have something to do with it. When the other outfit first started picking up the contracts I thought it was my fault for not watching expenses…or possibly taking too much time with the sites. But after a little soul searching, I realized the work couldn’t be done any quicker, or cheaper…not and provide any reasonable amount of documentation of both the site and the specimens recovered.”

  The professor paused, pointed out his truck at the far side of the parking lot, and went on. “Most sites here in the Four Corners have been worked over for the past hundred years or so. Pot hunters mostly––it’s almost a tradition among the locals in some places.” They pulled alongside George’s old Suburban and Dr. Custer went on. “Despite increasing federal legislation it’s still happening today. Of course, many of our original champions of southwestern archaeology were little better than glorified pothunters themselves. I could name more than a few.” The professor stopped, and looked around the parking area before shaking his head and continuing, “Massive
undocumented collections were shipped to universities back east, even to several European collectors and museums. A few of those early collections are still considered the crème de la crème of Anasazi culture, especially those from Mesa Verde and eastern Utah.” The professor grew irritated and exclaimed, “Why, a museum in Finland is said to have one of the finest collections of Mesa Verde specimens in existence…some consider it better than the on site museum at the mesa itself. Those exhibits, even today, rely on artifacts on loan from local families and educational institutions. Losing their burial displays due to the Reparations Act left a big hole in their collection.”

  The professor looked tired as he reached for the door handle but was not finished. “In the thirties, museum and university sponsored expeditions into this country heated up, and the Anasazi craze was on.” Custer chuckled in spite of himself. “There were nationwide newspaper accounts of the latest finds and those fueled a race to fill exhibition cases. They made media darlings of certain previously unknown archaeologists and even some avid amateurs––who in most instances were doing little more than salvage work themselves.” The professor fixed Charlie with a grim smile. “In any case, new and important finds are still turning up, and it’s the duty of people in my business to see they wind up in the right hands.” The professor opened the door slightly, but still sat quietly in his seat as though in thought. “Even the term ‘Salvage Archaeology’ has taken on a different tone, which is why most in my line of work now refer to it as ‘Contract Archaeology’. Just a matter of semantics I suppose, but there you have it.”

  As the professor got out of the truck he hesitated again and shrugged. “There is one other thing Charlie, you’ll recall Officer Sosi mentioned the name William Crawley. Years ago a William Crawley was with UNM, until he was inexplicably discharged, and under undisclosed circumstances. In the old days the university was more careful of their reputation and seldom made public the reasons for letting someone go. I later heard he had worked for a while on a dig in Guatemala, but again, was dismissed. I lost track of him over time, today was the first time I’ve heard his name in years. Assuming it’s the same man, of course. I just find it curious, that’s all.”