Mourning Dove

by Aimée

  The Dry Hole was a testosterone den where the fights were real but the motivations vague. Like an elementary school playground, many egos went there to be tested, but it was a good training site for young officers needing to learn how to handle themselves in a hostile environment.

  Fortunately, it was barely lunch time, so the mood inside would be far different than after the off-duty day shift drifted in around six. Not seeing anyone hanging around in the parking lot, she assumed her contact had already gone inside. Ella pushed her badge back on her belt and made sure it remained covered by her jacket. She wanted to stay low key. Just being female in this place was rumored to be a test of courage.

  As she stepped inside the bar and grill, she stopped just past the door and stood, waiting for her eyes to adjust. There were no windows, which probably cut down on breakage considerably, and the lights were dim but probably legal. Then she saw Calvin Sanders sitting at the bar, a cup of what looked like coffee in front of him.

  He was out of uniform, but she recognized him instantly from the photo—buzz cut, tanned, and blue eyed. Sanders waved her over, having ostensibly checked out her photo as well. “Investigator Clah,” he greeted. He started to hold out his hand, but then let it drop. “Sorry, been out of the country for too long. Forgot you people don’t like to shake hands.”

  Ella nodded, not appreciating the “you people” comment that much, but having heard much worse in bars before. “No problem.”

  He grabbed his coffee and led the way to a table at the rear that offered a clear view of the room, then offered her some coffee from the pot the waitress had carried over. “Let me buy you a sandwich to go with it.”

  Ella shook her head. She’d planned to have lunch a little later with Carolyn. Though the morgue was scarcely the ideal setting, by the time she got there Carolyn would undoubtedly be needing a break, and they could both use downtime, though the topic would probably be the victim in the other room.

  “Coffee’s just fine,” she said. “Now tell me why you chose this particular place,” Ella said, looking around and noting gratefully that all was quiet. Even the sports program on TV was from some horse track in Florida.

  “I was hoping to track down one of my men. He served in the Guard and was Jimmy Blacksheep’s sergeant. He knew everyone in that section inside and out. Ever since I got the news about Jimmy, I’ve been trying to reach him, but I haven’t had any luck.”

  “He hangs out here?”

  “Yeah. It’s his favorite joint. He likes mixing it up every once in a while.”

  “Is he Navajo?” Ella asked.

  “No. His name is Kent Miller, and he’s one of our patrol officers. He’s a good cop, clean as they come, but he had some hairy experiences these past few months and mentioned needing to clear his head before reporting to work at the PD. I figure he’s at the secret fishing spot he was always talking about over in Iraq. But once he’s back in town, this is the first place he’ll come. This is his haunt.”

  “Do you think Miller might have some pertinent information?”

  “About the carjacking or the homicide, no, but he can help you get a better handle on Jimmy. All I can tell you is that Jimmy was a good soldier, the kind who could be counted on. Carried out his orders without any bellyaching.”

  Ella waited, trying to figure out where this was going.

  “Okay, so let’s cut to the chase,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “PFC Blacksheep and I served in the same unit overseas for eighteen months, and before that we trained together. Everyone in our unit knew each other, and, on top of that, Jimmy’s brother Samuel is with the PD. His death is family business as far as I’m concerned. So here’s my card. If you need anything—backup, whatever—consider me on call.”

  She took the card and jammed it into her jacket pocket. “Thanks, I’ll keep your offer in mind. But, so far, we’ve got it covered.”

  “Any idea why the carjacking turned deadly this time?”

  “We’re still checking all the angles.” Big Ed had been right. Everyone wanted to help on this one, which meant all eyes would be on their investigation. “I do have one question you might be able to answer. Since everyone was coming home from the same place, how come more guys didn’t ride back together?”

  He shrugged. “Some of the enlisted men may have come back together, I don’t know. I drove back alone because it’s against regulations for enlisted personnel and officers to fraternize. I also came back a week earlier than some because my enlistment was up. It had been extended months ago, but I was due for my discharge.”

  She nodded. “Do you happen to know if Jimmy Blacksheep had a personal weapon?”

  Calvin Sanders leaned back and considered her question. “All of the men in the unit are from New Mexico and a good percentage of them were born and raised here in the Four Corners. I’d be willing to bet that most of them owned handguns or rifles or both before shipping overseas,” he said, then paused before continuing. “I’ve been told that some soldiers feel naked without a gun when they first leave the service. Overseas, your weapon becomes a part of you—your lifeline and your insurance. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jimmy picked one up before making the drive back,” he said. “But, to be fair, some soldiers go the other way. Once they’re back and out of the service, they won’t go within a hundred yards of a weapon.”

  “What’s your best guess? Do you have any idea which way Jimmy would go?” Ella would normally avoid asking a Navajo to speak for another, but most Anglos didn’t have that cultural restriction in their background.

  Sanders thought about it, taking a sip of coffee. “I can’t tell you for sure, but I remember hearing talk in the chow line. Private Blacksheep mentioned that he grew up hunting in Carson National Forest and down on the Jicarilla Reservation, places like that. If I had to make a guess, I’d say he might have bought himself a sidearm before making the trip home. But he would have had to have picked it up right before he left. He wouldn’t have been allowed to bring it to his base quarters—unless he sneaked it in.”

  Sanders finished his coffee. “If Private Blacksheep bought himself a gun from a dealer, the Feds will have a record of it along with the rest of the paperwork.”

  “I’ll be touching base with my FBI source later this morning. Right now I’ve got to get going.”

  “Something else,” Sanders said as he stood up. “Once in a while a solder finds a way to smuggle a weapon back—a souvenir, you know—despite the new levels of security. So, if he had a weapon, you still might not find a record of it.”

  “Good to know. Thanks,” Ella said.

  Ella was walking toward the door when she heard a familiar voice yell out, “Hey, good looking, whatcha doing in a dump like this?”

  Ella recognized Teeny’s voice immediately. Turning, she walked to where he was sitting and, in the spirit of the game, crossed her arms across her chest, trying to appear indignant. “You talking to me, boy?”

  Teeny laughed out loud, but before Ella could say anything else, Calvin suddenly appeared at her side.

  “If you’ve got a problem, maybe you’d like to take it up with me instead of the lady,” Calvin challenged.

  Teeny, never one to back down, made a show of getting to his feet, which took some time. Calvin stood six feet tall, but Teeny was taller, and outweighed the Farmington cop by an easy hundred, at least. Teeny was as big as any National Football League defensive tackle, and probably a lot quicker on his feet. In comparison, Calvin suddenly looked puny and insignificant.

  “Easy, guys. Sergeant Sanders, this is an old friend, Bruce Little.”

  Calvin still wouldn’t take his eyes off Teeny. “Why don’t I walk you to the door, Ella?”

  Ella looked from one man to the other. This had started because of her, but it was developing into an ugly challenge that could pointlessly escalate unless she lightened things up. “Boys, boys,” she said, trying to sound like a harried mother. “We’ll take out a ruler and measure. Drop your drawers.”
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  Surprised, Calvin chuckled, and Teeny burst out laughing.

  “Bruce used to be a tribal police officer before he went into the private sector. We’re all brothers here,” she said, and introduced Calvin Sanders.

  Teeny extended his hand and Sanders shook it. “Ella’s an old, old friend.”

  “Hey, that was one ‘old’ too many, guy,” she said.

  Both men laughed again. “Well, I’m not needed here,” Sanders said. “You two can catch up, but I’ll be on my way.”

  “We’ll talk again soon, Sergeant,” Ella said.

  Teeny watched Ella’s expression as Calvin walked out of the bar. “I’ve seen that look. What’s bugging you about Sanders?”

  “Don’t know, Teeny,” she said softly, shaking her head. To this day, she was the only person who could call him Teeny and not end up gumming her food. “I’m working a really odd case.”

  “Yeah—the vet who got gunned down on the way home from the war. Heard about it.”

  It didn’t surprise her. Teeny’s network on and off the Rez was impressive. Perhaps part of it was that people didn’t feel comfortable saying no to Teeny whenever he wanted information. In fact, they volunteered it just to keep him happy. And it usually did.

  “You need help on that, call me in—on the house. Don’t feel right having one of our servicemen go out that way, you know?”

  “Yeah, I’m with you on that. I’ll keep your offer in mind and let you know. Thanks.”

  “So, will you join me for lunch?” he asked, as the server brought him two full plates, one with a stuffed sopapilla that covered the dish, and another heaped with chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and thick gravy. Teeny’s bulk demanded more meat than a college football team’s training table, so he usually ordered two full meals just for himself.

  “Wow, if I ate just one of those servings I’d explode.” She’d had dinner with the big man before, and it was nothing short of impressive.

  “Big boys gotta eat big,” he said.

  “Food looks good, though. Wish I could stay, but I’ve got someone to meet.” With a wave she left Teeny to his banquet.

  Once back inside her cruiser—an unmarked SUV—Ella pulled out into traffic heading west, then called Carolyn Roanhorse. Though Carolyn and she were good friends, thanks to their mutually busy schedules, they rarely managed to find time to get together. When they did, more often than not, it was on business. Despite that, their friendship continued strong, mostly because of the deep woman-to-woman understanding that existed between them.

  Ella was considered ’alní by many, a person who walked the line between two cultures—Anglo and Navajo. It was a hard road to travel, but Carolyn’s path was even more difficult. She helped the tribe by serving them in a capacity that no one else would have willingly chosen. Belief in the chindi would forever make their M.E. a pariah on the reservation. Yet her job was crucial to the tribe. It gave them a good measure of autonomy over investigations that took place on the Navajo Nation.

  Carolyn’s marriage to the Anglo doctor, Michael Lavery, had seemed perfect at first. Both were forensic pathologists working with law enforcement, though out of different offices. Michael had retired, allowing them to be together, but, in the end, maybe they’d been too alike and too used to living alone. Michael was gone now, having taken up teaching, and Carolyn was alone again.

  Ella finally connected with Carolyn on the phone. “Hey, I thought I’d come by, so we could have lunch.”

  “That’s not going to get you the answers you want any sooner,” Carolyn warned. “But a preliminary report is ready. The victim died of multiple bullet wounds to the heart and lungs from at least two different handgun-caliber weapons. The rounds I recovered are here waiting for you. They look like commercial ammo, nothing extraordinary. The man took multiple hits but those weren’t immediately fatal,” she said, then after a pause added, “He had a lot of bullet holes in him, Ella. I tested for powder burns on his hands, and got a positive on his right hand. He returned fire and it looks like he put up one heckuva fight, judging from the results of the powder residue. And I’ve verified the T.O.D. He died around seven in the morning as I suggested earlier.”

  “Except for the guns, that fits in with the M.O. of the carjackers. They strike early in the morning, trying to get people going to work on the less-traveled roads. Drivers are half asleep, not really thinking about anything except getting to where they’re going.”

  “There are a lot of commendable reasons for dying, old friend, but protecting your car is a really bad one,” Carolyn said.

  “Yeah, and an insured rental at that,” Ella agreed, lost in thought.

  “So, I’ll see you soon?” Carolyn asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

  “I’ll be there in a half hour at most.”

  Ella was halfway back to Shiprock when her cell phone rang. Looking at the display she saw it was Rose. Dreading the call, she pressed the talk button.

  “Your daughter is heartbroken that you can’t come. Couldn’t you at least stop by the school and wish her luck before she steps out onto the stage?”

  The comment made Ella’s chest tighten. She took a deep breath. Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. “I’ll do my best.” Ella had just convinced herself that a small detour couldn’t hurt, when her cell phone rang again.

  “It’s Justine,” the caller said. “You have a package waiting for you here at the station. And, Ella—get this. It’s from Jimmy Black-sheep.”

  “Open it carefully and find out what’s in it.” Mail from a dead man took priority. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  FOUR

  Ella called Carolyn, postponing lunch, then dialed her daughter’s school and asked that Dawn be brought to the phone.

  Hearing her daughter’s excited hello, Ella smiled and the hard edges around her heart disappeared. “I just wanted to wish you luck, pumpkin,” Ella said as she raced to the station.

  “You can’t come, can you?” Dawn said in a mournful voice.

  “No, I’m sorry. But my heart’s going to be right there with you.”

  “I know, and you were with my class all day when we went to Narbona Pass. But still . . .” a tiny voice replied.

  Ella almost made the turn that would have taken her to Dawn’s school. “I love you, sweetie. More than you’ll ever know. But the tribe needs me. I’ll be there next time, you’ll see.”

  “Daddy’s here,” Dawn said. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Ella’s grip tightened around the phone as Kevin got on. “Don’t worry about anything, Ella. I’ll be sitting in the front row along with our daughter’s grandmother and we’ll be clapping louder than anyone else.”

  His voice was cheerful and she knew he was speaking for Dawn’s benefit. “I’m glad you’re there,” she said.

  “She needed one of us.”

  He’d spoken in a matter-of-fact tone, but the words knotted her stomach until it hurt.

  “So what kept you from coming this time?” he asked pleasantly in that same tone of voice that told her Dawn was still close by.

  She imagined landing a solid punch in his midsection and found some satisfaction in that. Then she took a deep breath. “Certainly not the same excuse that kept you away the last two times. Just listen to the news and you’ll understand. I’ll talk to you later, but right now I have to get to the station.”

  “I’ve already told Dawn that you’ll make it up to her by taking her on a special horseback ride. Maybe even this weekend?”

  She would have shot him on the spot—had she been there. “Why did you say that without checking with me first?”

  “I knew that horseback riding is something you two do together. And you can work out the timing yourself, right?”

  The next voice she heard was Dawn’s. “Mom, can we? Can we go for a picnic lunch? Or an early morning pancake breakfast?”

  Ella swore that next time she saw Kevin, she’d reach down his throat and yank his tongue out
. “We will go, I promise, but it may not be this weekend. I have to wrap up this case first. Your father will explain once he listens to the radio, or reads the newspaper.”

  “Oh.”

  Her daughter’s small voice pierced her. “Pumpkin, you know I love you. As soon as this case is closed, we’ll take off on the horses and stay out for as long as you want. Just the two of us.”

  “Breakfast and lunch?”

  To Dawn, the ideal breakfast was pancakes and the perfect lunch, hot dogs, both over a campfire. “We can handle that,” Ella answered, giving her daughter, the negotiator, a few points. “But I’ve got to go back to work now,” Ella said as she pulled into the station and parked.

  “Okay. Someday I’m going to be an officer, too,” Dawn said, then promptly hung up.

  The declaration stunned her. Ella sat in her cruiser staring at the wheel, trying to gather her thoughts. The last thing she wanted for her daughter was a career in law enforcement. She took a deep, steadying breath. She was taking it too seriously. Dawn had also mentioned wanting to be a basketball player and a rodeo star within the past six months. Two walls in her room, full of photos of two very different kinds of arenas, testified to those impulses.

  As Ella walked into the station lobby, she started down the wrong hall before remembering her new office. Reversing directions and noting that if the duty officer behind the counter had seen her lapse, he wasn’t showing it, she hurried on. The new wing still smelled of fresh paint, and seeing Ralph Tache in the hall, hoped he wouldn’t get queasy from the odor. He’d been out sick yesterday.

  Ralph nodded somberly as he joined her, his eyes filled with questions, not answers. As she went by Justine’s office, her partner came out through a new doorway to the lab and followed them. “I left the padded envelope on your desk,” she said. “What’s inside is a real puzzle.”