Mourning Dove

by Aimée

  “Okay. You’re free to go.”

  Ella went back to her office, and saw FBI Agent Dwayne Blalock waiting for her. “Nice digs. Beats that old closet you had before.”

  “That’s for sure, but I haven’t been able to spend much time in here lately.” Ella sat behind her desk and looked out the window at the cloudless blue sky.

  “I spoke to your partner a few minutes ago. I heard the clunker the thieves used as bait was stolen right outside the owner’s home. It was left parked outside with the keys still in it. They didn’t think anyone would steal it.”

  “Justine and Tache will go over it, along with county. If there’s any evidence there they’ll find it,” Ella said.

  “The carjackers have adjusted their M.O. just a bit. They’re operating later in the morning. It was a blonde?”

  “With top-heavy attributes,” Ella said and explained. “It worked, I’ll give them that much. The witnesses didn’t take a careful look at anything else.”

  “At least this time no one’s dead,” Blalock said. “But the key may be that no one fought back.”

  “He was unarmed, and couldn’t take his eyes off the woman long enough to see it coming,” Ella answered.

  “Think I’ll stick around here until the car’s processed. That okay?”

  “Sure.” She was about to say more, when she saw Samuel Blacksheep at her door.

  “I got a call from Sanders, who said you might be having a run-in with the carjackers. How’d it go down?” he asked without preamble.

  Blalock stood up. “I’ll be with your crime-scene people,” he told Ella, then ducked out the door.

  “Sit down, Officer,” Ella said. “We didn’t get close enough to make an arrest, but we were able to recover the stolen vehicle this time. Add to that some new descriptions, a slight change in their M.O., and the possibility that we’ll find something in the vehicles that’ll help. But I’m glad you came by. I’m having a problem getting a clear handle on your brother. I need more to go on. You said he’d thought about taking some writing classes, but was there anything else? I understand he was a ladies’ man, so who was he seeing? Anyone around here?”

  “My brother had a lot of women in his life—off and on. Women loved to mother him for some reason. We’d laugh about that, but it was true,” Samuel said seriously. “He spoke of getting married several times—but it was always just talk. My brother wanted to be a writer like I told you, but I don’t think he knew he’d probably need a real job in case that didn’t work out,” Samuel said with a sad smile.

  “I have witnesses that claim Jimmy said he had a score to settle with someone when he got back home.”

  Samuel’s expression hardened. “Who told you that?” he shot back.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

  Samuel stood. “I think you’re wasting time on useless speculation that has nothing to do with his death. Stick to the facts you have. My brother was murdered because he didn’t want to relinquish anything to a man holding a gun. Considering where he’d come from, you can’t blame him. Do you have any more information we don’t already have that I can pass on to my PD?”

  “The county will be sending your carjacking team copies of their reports, I’m sure, as will our department. But it’ll have to go through channels,” Ella said, forcing her tone to remain calm. “You said you’d spoken to Jimmy by phone once after he got back. Did he mention wanting to see anyone here on the Rez?” Ella pressed. It was a fishing expedition, but she caught the flicker in Samuel’s otherwise steady gaze. He was holding something back.

  “My brother and I weren’t exactly drinking buddies, but I can tell you this much. Something happened to Jimmy over there that changed him. He wasn’t the same. He was more focused, and . . . quieter. If he had an agenda once he got back here, he sure kept it to himself.”

  “Would it surprise you to learn that your brother bought a handgun once he was stateside?”

  “Oh, hell no. He’s had a deer rifle since he was fourteen. Both of us have always had a weapon of one kind or another. He probably got used to having a sidearm and felt naked without one—like it is for police officers. But if I had to lay odds, I’d say he wanted a weapon in case he had a problem on the road, or at a rest stop. Remember that he served in a transportation unit, and the roads over there are deadly. To stay alive he had to be on alert at all times, and there’s a lot to be said for habits.”

  “Just one more question. Does Mourning Dove mean anything to you?”

  “Morning Dove . . . a bird who flies before noon?”

  “No, Mourning, like in sad.”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Sounds like a character in one of our creation stories. You know, like Trickster, the Coyote. I remember some of those from grade school—but barely. My brother was the one who was interested in all that stuff, not me. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just something that came up around here recently,” Ella replied vaguely. But he wasn’t convinced, she could see it on his face. When she didn’t elaborate, he gave her a curt nod, and left.

  Alone, Ella sat in her office, thinking. Samuel Blacksheep was holding something back about his brother, she was sure of that. But to learn what that was, she’d have to find a witness who’d known both Jimmy and Samuel.

  Neskahi came into her office next. “Hey, Ella. I got some news from the Many Devils before the manhunt this afternoon took me away. Remember, you wanted me to make some inquiries about the carjackings?”

  “Yeah. I knew that Joey, your cousin, is in that gang. What’d you get?”

  “I gave it a shot and spoke to Joey first but, from what he said the kids really don’t know much about it—and that’s something that’s really getting under their skins. The Many Devils think they deserve a cut of anything that goes down on their turf, but they haven’t been able to find out who’s behind the carjackings. Not enough adult informants, I guess. They’ve pressured everyone who’s ever taken a joyride, since it’s making them look bad. The thing is that most of the carjackings have happened on areas claimed by the Many Devils, as opposed to the turf claimed by the North Siders.”

  “Do you think this is somehow gang-related, but with some other gang in play we don’t know about yet?”

  “No. It’s too . . . organized for youth gangs. Think about it. The operation goes down with almost military precision. They hit—they’re gone. Later, we find the car they’ve used to lure the driver of the jacked vehicle, but there are never prints left behind or evidence of any sort. The gangs like to leave their calling cards for intimidation purposes and publicity. Besides, the witnesses have all insisted that the perps were adults.”

  Justine knocked on the door, then came in. “We have something this time. The blond hair? It came from a wig. A cheap one, too. And I found what looks like makeup, which probably won’t be much help.”

  “Right, but check the places in this area that sell wigs,” Ella said.

  “Already on it,” Justine said. “There are only a few retail outlets, but pages of mail-order places, which usually have better records because nothing is paid for in cash. I’ll check those, too.”

  “See if Blalock can help you with that. Businesses outside our area might respond better to a request from him.”

  “Will do,” Justine said. “I’ve also got other news. Officer Jeremy Bitsillie is back.”

  “The PD officer who served with Jimmy?”

  Justine nodded. “He heard about what happened when he was in Arizona with his family. He’s here at the station now. Do you want me to send him in?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Justine and Neskahi left to get back to work and, less than five minutes later, a barrel-chested Navajo officer stopped by her door. “I understand you’ve been looking for me.”

  Ella nodded and offered him a chair. “I wanted to talk to you about the Guardsman who just died here on the Rez.” Out of respect, since she wasn’t sure how much of a new traditionalist he might be, she avoi
ded mentioning Jimmy by name.

  “Yeah, he and I grew up together. He was one of the good guys.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything that comes to mind that’ll help me get a clearer picture of the deceased. To solve this case I’ll need to know who he was and how his mind worked.”

  He studied her expression for several long moments, then said, “That makes me think you don’t believe his murder was linked to the carjackings, do you?”

  Bitsillie’s eyes held hers, and Ella didn’t look away. “We’re still considering all the possibilities, so I need some feedback. What was his state of mind over in Iraq, and when he returned to the States?”

  “That guy made enemies all too easily.” Officer Bitsillie paused for several long moments before continuing. “All things considered, my guess is that someone was waiting for him when he got back . . . set him up, you know?”

  “He’s been gone for over a year. Do you think it might have been someone from his unit who followed him here?”

  He considered it. “Maybe. But the way it shapes up, it would have had to have been someone familiar enough with the details of the carjackings to make it look like a busted heist . . . like a police officer. Someone he trusted and who knew he’d be back.”

  Ella nodded. Although he hadn’t mentioned a name, she knew who he meant—Officer Samuel Blacksheep—Jimmy’s brother.

  EIGHT

  Ella reached for a pack of gum from her desk drawer and offered Officer Bitsillie a stick. “What was the deceased planning to do once he was back home? Do you happen to know?”

  He remained quiet for a long time. “I know Jimmy had a score to settle with someone here, but I don’t know who. He wasn’t the talkative sort, and he only mentioned it once.”

  Ella knew now that Bitsillie was comfortable using the victim’s name. “What do you know about his relationship with his brother?”

  “Yeah, Samuel. I got the impression that they had their differences, and they got even further apart the past few months, but, deep down, Jimmy wanted the approval of his older brother. Jimmy mentioned going to the community college and maybe learning how to write stories and books. Navajo fiction, I think he said once.”

  Ella nodded, waiting for Jeremy to continue.

  “He said that he’d been screwing around for too long, taking crappy jobs that didn’t require anything except muscle power. He wanted more out of his life—a reason to feel good about himself when he got up every morning. A career.”

  Ella saw the flicker in his eyes—the hesitation created by a thought left unspoken. “And what else?” she pressed.

  Jeremy smiled. “My grandmother is a traditionalist,” he said. “She told me once that your clan has gifts—that you and your mother know things no one else does. And the other cops around here say you can read minds sometimes.”

  Ella shook her head. “No, I don’t read minds. I’ve just learned to read people. And, right now, you’re sending signals you’re not even aware of. What else is there about the deceased you’re not saying?”

  Jeremy exhaled slowly. “He was a loner and never let on when something was eating at him. But whatever happened between him and the girl he left behind really set him off. For about a month, he was really on edge, mouthing off to other soldiers in the platoon. He ended up getting reamed out by the sergeant and pulling a lot of extra duty.”

  “What’s this woman’s name?”

  “He never said, but he called her Bluebird once. I remember that. He was really into the old Navajo stories. According to him Bluebird was a symbol of peace and happiness and that’s what she meant to him. Then he got a letter from home and went nuts for a while. We all figured she’d dumped him, but whenever anyone tried to bring him out, he’d just make some smart-ass comment and walk away. No one pushed it because, over there, you learn never to get somebody really angry—not when they’re packing automatic weapons twenty-four/seven.”

  “I see your point. If you think of anything that might help, will you let me know?”

  “Sure.” Jeremy stood. “For what it’s worth, my gut tells me that you should be looking for answers among the people who’ve been here at home the past eighteen or so months.”

  Lost in thought, Ella watched Officer Bitsillie walk out. Before she could consider the new information, Justine knocked on the door and walked in with two sandwiches from the machine.

  “Have some lunch,” Justine said, handing her one. “I’ve followed up on Calvin Sanders’s whereabouts when Jimmy was murdered. According to my friend, Sergeant Sanders wasn’t clocked in, but Calvin comes in at around seven A.M. regularly to catch up on paperwork. The day of the murder Calvin left some dated reports on his desk. My friend came in a little before eight A.M. and they were already there. Since they hadn’t been there the night before, he assumes Calvin must have come in early that morning. He’s got nothing on Louis Smith.”

  “Murky alibi. Those papers could have been placed there hours before,” she said, eating the tasteless sandwich. It was either turkey or chicken. She couldn’t tell.

  “Yeah,” Justine agreed. “We could use an eyewitness.”

  “Sit down, Justine. Let’s do a little brainstorming here,” Ella said, finishing her last bite, then waiting for her second cousin and assistant to make herself comfortable. “Here’s what we got—Jimmy might have had an old enemy waiting for him to return, or was very quick to make an enemy after he got back. It’s also possible he was the random victim of road rage, but the missing car doesn’t support that theory. Jimmy might have also had an enemy in his unit who came home at the same time or earlier, knew when and where he was going, and was waiting on the road for him to show up.”

  “We have good reason to believe Jimmy was carrying a handgun, but there’s still a problem,” Justine said. “There’s no record of Jimmy purchasing a gun, at least not one we’ve been able to find so far. It could have been bought under the radar, or from an acquaintance, like someone in his unit. It’s also possible that Jimmy grabbed one of the carjacker’s weapons and turned it against him before going down.”

  “True. But if he was packing then that means he was thinking trouble might be coming his way. Maybe that roadside bombing and shootout where Randy Billey was injured was more than just an insurgent attack. That may have been the first murder attempt. They botched it, and Jimmy began watching his back from then on.”

  “There’s no way we’ll ever prove that though, one way or the other,” Justine said. “That’s up to the Army investigators.”

  Ella nodded. “What might have ultimately sealed Jimmy’s fate was the package he sent me. If anyone saw him do that . . .”

  “You could be right. That means we need to break that code,” Justine said. “Since the message might depend on Navajo knowledge, we have to find someone who knows the old Navajo creation stories like the back of his hand.”

  “I’ve already tried my brother,” Ella said.

  “There’s someone else . . . but he and your brother have had some serious differences in the past. They’re fundamentally poles apart.”

  “Clifford gets along with pretty much everyone—except me on occasion. He’s pretty tolerant, too, about accepting other points of view, so I’m really curious. Who are you talking about?”

  “Reverend Bilford Tome at our church.”

  “Never heard of him. What happened to Reverend Campbell?” Ella asked. She remembered talking to him after the accident in the mine. Though his perspective was clearly based on Christianity, he’d kept preaching out of it and helped her deal with the questions she’d had after her near-death experience.

  “Oh, he’s still there, but we have a new preacher who conducts an earlier service—in Navajo. Reverend Tome is Navajo, and he knows our creation stories because he wrote a book on the subject. He has a degree in anthropology, one in theology, and one in mathematics. He’s super smart—some say brilliant.”


  Ella smiled slowly. “And you’ve got a thing for him?”

  “Nah. I took my shot, but there wasn’t any chemistry between us. Too bad for me,” she added, laughing. “Anyway, he’s someone to consider for help in breaking that code.”

  “Why haven’t you mentioned this preacher to me before?”

  Justine hesitated. “There’s something strange about his background . . . and maybe him, too. I did a little curious checking on some of our databases, and discovered that he’s got more security clearances than you, me, and FB-Eyes combined. When I tried to do a background check, all I got was access denied, then a blue screen. And I mean that literally. Everything just froze up on me,” she said. “But the thing that made me really uncomfortable is that he somehow found out that I’d been . . . curious. He took me aside after last week’s service, and told me that if I had any questions about him and his past, I should just ask him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a smile. “Hey, it’s me, remember?”

  “You’ll ask anyone anything, cuz. So, what did Reverend Tome say?”

  “That some events in his life were classified because he used to work for the government.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I don’t know. All I really got out of him is that he used to live in Maryland, then Virginia. He gave me a name of an official at the State Department he said would vouch for him. But he wanted to know why I was checking. I didn’t answer him. I figured he’d ducked my questions and well . . . quid pro quo and all that.”

  Ella nodded. “Hmm. The NSA is supposed to be located at Fort Meade, Maryland, and the CIA is in Virginia. He could be linked to some heavy hitters. I would have backpeddled, too. Do you think he has the kind of training that might help us crack Blacksheep’s code?”

  “Knowledge of our creation stories is a plus in this case, maybe the key. Ford—that’s what he insists everyone call him outside of church—has got an entire library at the rectory—books and written accounts that he transcribed after talking to some of our tribe’s elders and medicine men. It’s really impressive. Our community college asked for copies of everything in his collection.”