by Aimée
As Ella stood up she felt everyone’s gaze shift to her. “Everyone here has been quick to complain, but it’s time to set the record straight. Our local officers have all been working double shifts, putting in long hours because we just don’t have enough manpower to deal with everything that’s been happening. We’ve given up time with our families and done our duty because it’s our job. But we need—and deserve—community support. We want people to keep their eyes open and report suspicious vehicles and individuals. If we work together, we can stop what’s been happening.”
“We’ve called you,” one woman challenged, “but by the time the officers show up, it’s all over.”
“Our police department is on a shoestring budget, and because we don’t have as many officers as we need, we’re spread too thin sometimes. That’s why we’re asking the public to take a more active role,” Ella answered. “Try to get descriptions of the vehicles and the drivers, so that when an officer arrives, they have something tangible to go on.”
“So the heart of the problem is that there aren’t enough police officers, and that’s due to lack of funds?” Brownhat asked.
“That’s it in a nutshell,” Big Ed said, standing. His deep, resonant voice commanded respect, and the room grew silent. “We’ll do the best with what we’ve got, but we need the support of the Dineh. The way things are now we can’t do it alone.”
Mrs. Yellowhair stood up and, in the cool, calculating manner of a politician, waited, looking over the crowd and making eye contact. “What Chief Atcitty has just told you is a hard fact we all have to face. The tribe has had to cut the budgets of nearly every branch of government. No one needs to be reminded that this has been a hard year and many of our people have needed help with food and heat for their homes. Those efforts have depleted our treasury to the point where, now more than ever, the basic needs of the Dineh are not being met. That’s what finally convinced me that we need a new source of income, and that it’s time to institute tribal gaming. Until we do, we’re going to be facing one crisis after another.”
Ella saw the glances and nods people gave each other. If there was one thing that could be said for Abigail Yellowhair, it was that she knew how to work a room.
“With the additional funds well-managed gaming would provide,” Mrs. Yellowhair continued, “we’d have enough money to hire more officers and give them better equipment and training.”
“Throwing money at the problem is an Anglo way of thinking,” Brownhat said.
“We need additional police officers and firemen, but we can’t hire them. Money—or more specifically, the lack of it—is the real problem,” Mrs. Yellowhair argued. “We expect miracles from our police officers, but they’re human beings and no one can be at their best when they’re outnumbered and exhausted.”
Rose stood up and Ella stared at her mother in surprise, not having seen her come in. “Gaming could bring in more money for the police force—a very good thing, since they’ll need even more officers to combat the rise in crime that accompanies casinos and one armed bandits,” Rose said, her voice strong and insistent. “Some will get rich, and our tribe may have bigger bank accounts, but it will be at the expense of others. Some will lose everything pursuing their get-rich-quick dream. That’s not living in harmony. How can anyone walk in beauty knowing that’s the path our tribe will be walking down?”
As her mother continued speaking, Ella saw a side of Rose she’d always been too close to notice before. Ella knew how much others respected her mom, but it now was clear to her that Rose was a force to be reckoned with. No one seemed inclined to argue with her—a sentiment Ella sympathized with enormously.
“It’s true that we need to find money to meet the needs of the Dineh,” Rose continued. “But let’s not do that by destroying the very people we’re trying to protect.” She looked at Mrs. Yellowhair squarely. “Our tribe can find other ways to get the funds we need. There are Federal programs, grants, and loans available if we choose to ask for help—programs supported by the taxes we all pay. But, in the long run, part of the answer lies in demanding a greater share of the profits from the fuels and natural resources that leave the Dinetah. And if the outside companies mining our land refuse, then we have to take over those businesses and run them ourselves.”
When Rose finally sat down, it was quiet for some time. At length Mrs. Yellowhair stood up again. “Okay, Chief. Talk to us. How bad is the situation in the police department and what kind of financial support do you need right now?”
“We believe that the vandals are monitoring police radios, so we need to raise money so our officers can be given scrambled cell phones. This will give us an edge—one we need very badly.”
“All right. One way or another, I’ll see that you get them.”
Ella wondered if it would just turn out to be another wannabe politician’s empty promise. Yet, as she studied Mrs. Yellowhair’s expression, she came to the conclusion that if it didn’t happen, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying on her part. The woman had made some powerful friends as the wife of a former state senator.
Ella stood up to speak again, but before she could open her mouth an explosion rocked the room, rattling the windows so hard some of them cracked. Excited voices filled the room.
Ella worked her way to one of the windows, aware of the scent of burning fuel that now filled the air. A large fire lit up the parking lot and grounds outside.
Weaving through the panicked crowd, Ella left the building and drew closer to the source of the explosion. Through the black cloud of billowing smoke, Ella could see Big Ed’s brand new white pickup engulfed in flames.
* * *
As Big Ed rushed past her carrying a fire extinguisher, Ella ran to stop him. It was already too late to salvage the truck. Flames reaching the gas tank had caused the explosion. Two broken beer bottles on the gravel and a familiar scent told her exactly what had happened. Bottles filled with kerosene and plugged with rags set on fire had been hurled against the truck.
Realizing how hopeless the situation was, Big Ed never activated the extinguisher. Instead, he turned and moved to help her keep people away from the fire. His face was drawn and his eyes glittered with anger. “Don’t worry about the truck now, Shorty. Just help me keep everyone back.”
Ella knew that this incident had been calculated to produce the most damage—not only to the vehicle, but to Big Ed’s reputation as well.
The chief suddenly glanced at her, then looked around quickly. “Shorty, go back inside right now,” he yelled over the increasing roar of the fire. “This might be a diversion to draw you out into the open. You’re illuminated right now and a sitting duck for the sniper.”
“I understand but, first, we’ve got to get people to move their vehicles to safety so the fire can’t spread. And, after that, you’re going to need help to make sure nobody disturbs any evidence around the truck. I’ve got my vest on, and I’ll keep moving, but I’m needed out here right now.”
Big Ed held her gaze, then nodded. “All right, but stay sharp.” After finding the nervous owners of the vehicles on both sides of the burning truck, the two officers drove cars away to a safe distance.
Justine showed up ten minutes later. The Fire Department had been called, but they were even less well-funded than the police, and were still en route with their ancient equipment. “I heard the call over the radio,” Justine said. “I was on my way home, but I figured I might be needed here.”
“You figured right,” Ella said. “Let’s start questioning people. I want to know if anyone saw anything, or if they remember someone leaving early. I was too preoccupied with what was being said during the meeting to notice much of anything going on outside, and no one around me left early. Big Ed was closer to the windows, so talk to him first.”
Justine glanced around, spotting the chief talking to people coming forward for a look at his burning truck. “Did Big Ed get someone at the meeting especially ticked off tonight?”
Ella c
onsidered it. “I don’t think so. He defended his viewpoint well, but he didn’t make any accusations.”
As they began to question onlookers Rose approached Ella. “I’d like to go home. Do you need me to stay?”
“Do you remember anyone around you leaving early?” Ella asked her mother.
“No, in fact, I’m sure no one did,” Rose said. “With the seating up to capacity, everyone would have noticed something like that.”
“This was calculated to make the chief look as bad as possible tonight,” Ella said wearily, glancing back at his truck. “If they’re trying to discredit him, they’re doing a great job.”
Rose placed her hand on Ella’s arm. “Your chief made his point well, daughter,” she said softly. “Despite what happened, it was a good thing he came tonight. Maybe the politician’s wife,” Rose said, referring to Abigail Yellowhair, “will finally realize how serious the situation is at the police department right now. She’s one of the very few people in a position to help you.”
“She does have a lot of connections,” Ella agreed. She saw traces of exhaustion on her mother’s face. “I wish you hadn’t come. I know your injured hand is bothering you. But I have to say that you sure held everyone’s attention when you spoke,” Ella added with a touch of pride in her voice.
“I’ve walked through time longer than you and most of the people here,” Rose said, alluding to her age in the Navajo way, “and it’s time I allowed myself to be more than just your mother, daughter,” Rose said quietly.
Ella understood. Women had always wielded the real power in the tribe. Unlike the Anglo culture, where “traditional” often meant a stay-at-home mom, in the Navajo culture, the word had a deeper meaning. To the Dineh, it signified a way of life defined and sustained by religious beliefs and cultural practices. It meant a basis for thought and action, but it did not confine a person’s boundaries. If anything, it expanded them.
“I’ll talk to you when I get home, if you’re still up,” Ella said.
As Rose walked away, Justine rejoined Ella. “I’m getting nowhere, and the chief’s mood is worsening every second. Not that I blame him. His truck is completely toasted.”
“Here comes the Fire Department now,” Ella said, gesturing.
Ella watched the firemen trying to coax a stream of water out of their second-hand equipment. The hose had been repaired in several places and the pump was barely working. “If this doesn’t prove to those still here that, without funds, we’re all fighting an impossible battle, I don’t know what will,” Ella said quietly.
While the firemen worked, Ella questioned the people still hanging around, but after ninety minutes all she had to show for her efforts was a great deal of frustration.
At long last, out of water and with no hydrant nearby, the firemen began putting away their equipment. Justine began sorting through what little evidence there was from around the burned truck.
Ella saw Big Ed standing by the building, a scowl on his face, and walked over, intending to offer him a ride home. Before she could reach him, the chief’s wife, Claire pulled up in her old four-wheel-drive SUV.
Big Ed saw Ella approaching and went to meet her. “Shorty, I’m going home. I’ll send a wrecker over tomorrow morning to haul what’s left of my truck to the junkyard. Let me know what you and your assistant find out after you review the evidence.”
“We’ll have a report on your desk sometime tomorrow,” she said.
Big Ed gave her a tight-lipped nod and strode off.
The next few days at the station would be hell. There was no way he’d forget or allow them to forget the vandals who’d publicly humiliated him, not until they had the perps in jail.
Also by Aimée and David Thurlo
ELLA CLAH NOVELS
Blackening Song
Death Walker
Bad Medicine
Enemy Way
Shooting Chant
Red Mesa
Changing Woman
Tracking Bear
LEE NEZ NOVELS
Second Sunrise
Blood Retribution
SISTER AGATHA NOVELS
Bad Faith
Thief in Retreat (coming)
Plant Them Deep
“Red Mesa is the 87th Precinct on an Indian reservation, a murder mystery laced with mysticism, politics, and social commentary. Navajo Special Investigator Ella Clah is a self confident and skilled detective who balances her professional duties with single motherhood and a fierce devotion to her people. She’s a formidable heroine.”
—Lee Goldberg, Edgar Award-nominated Executive Producer of Diagnosis: Murder
“The Thurlos maintain a firm hold on reality with convincing details of life and speech patterns. The reasons for the plot against Ella are satisfyingly complex as they unravel. And the moments that single mom Clah steals from her work to spend with her 18-month-old daughter, Dawn, are poignantly rendered.”
—Publishers Weekly on Red Mesa
“Death Walker is suspenseful and appealing; an intriguing mystery set against—and deeply rooted in—a beautifully described Rez and the people who live there. I grew up in Flagstaff, near the reservation; I recognized the people in the Thurlos’ pages at first glance.”
—Diana Gabaldon, New York Times bestselling author
“Death Walker is a complex and satisfying mystery richly woven with Navajo culture and mysticism. Aimée and David Thurlo keep the plot moving at a fast and furious pace.”
—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author
“The pace never slackens in Death Walker. Navajo Special Investigator Ella Clah will enchant readers as she searches for a serial killer and faces down an old enemy. The authors know and love the Navajo world to the great benefit of their readers.”
—Carolyn Hart, New York Times bestselling author
“Once again, the Thurlos have written an intense, fast-paced mystery that will have fans reading into the wee hours. The authors’ grasp of the Navajo culture seems authentic.”
—The Wichita Eagle, The Buffalo News, and syndicated by Knight-Ridder
“A fascinating story. Ella Clah, strong and vulnerable at the same time, is an intriguing character of great depth, and the surprise ending will delight all mystery lovers.”
—Romantic Times
“The authors deliver an intense, spellbinding family drama in which the battle between good and evil affects both modernist and traditionalist Navajo. Prime reading for Tony Hillerman and other southwestern mysteries.”
—Library Journal
“Fans of Tony Hillerman’s Navajo novels will find themselves in familiar territory if they read the mysteries of Aimée and David Thurlo featuring Special Investigator Ella Clah of the Navajo Tribal Police. This is a well-written mystery.”
—The St. Louis Post-Dispatch on Bad Medicine
“Rarely can a reader pick up a book in the middle of a series and feel comfortable with knowing what’s been going on. That is the case with Shooting Chant. Enough background is given to know that this is not the first book featuring Ella Clah, but not so much as to make the reader feel as if they’ve missed too much. Shooting Chant is well-written, descriptive, entertaining. It will provide readers looking for a suspenseful read with a lead character who is intelligent, dedicated, likeable, and quite appealing.”
—Albuquerque Journal
“Fans of Tony Hillerman will enjoy this thriller. Like Hillerman, the Thurlos offer insight into the Navajo culture and the conflict between the traditional and modern ways of life. An intelligent and entertaining murder mystery.”
—The Baton Rouge Advocate on Bad Medicine
“Ella Clah is a complex, well-crafted character with both strengths and flaws that make her appealing to readers. I never wanted to quit reading. The story is steeped in authenticity. If Hillerman ever retires [the Thurlos] will be the obvious heirs apparent.”
—Colorado Springs Gazette Telegraph on Bad Medicine
This is a
work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
RED MESA
Copyright © 2001 by Aimée and David Thurlo
All rights reserved.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 0-812-56869-9
EAN 978-0-812-56869-1
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-048445
First edition: April 2001
First mass market edition: February 2002
eISBN 9781466841949
First eBook edition: March 2013
