Death Walker

by Aimée

  “It might. There are other players in this who are still at large. If Yazzie wants me to know this now, he must have a reason.”

  “Yes, he wants to distract you from the investigation. Deep down you know that. You’re getting so close now—yesterday you almost got yourself killed.”

  Ella ran a hand through her hair. “I know what you’re saying, and we will catch the killer soon, I hope. But if it’s true what Peterson says about my husband’s death, they’ve affected my entire destiny. I have to know.”

  “And if it is true, what then?”

  “I’ll find a way to deal with it, but not knowing will gnaw at me until it drives me crazy.”

  “I can’t afford to use department money to send you on a wild-goose chase all the way to Columbus, Georgia.”

  “I’ll pay for the trip myself.”

  “You’ve got two days. Try to take less. We need to catch a killer here. I’ll call the department in Columbus and ask them to cooperate. I have no official jurisdiction, but it’s a courtesy that I think they’ll observe.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate this.”

  Big Ed tossed her a set of keys. “Your Jeep’s ready, parked behind the station. It’s had the tires, windshield, and several body panels replaced, along with a host of mechanical repairs. Try not to destroy it again soon.”

  Ella caught the keys in midair. “Thanks. Justine has the keys to the car I’ve been using. I’ll get them from her and turn them in.”

  Ella went down the hall. Hearing footsteps, Justine came out. “I think the threads came from your shirt, but the state lab will have to tell us for sure.”

  “The way my luck’s running on this, you’re probably right.” Ella motioned for Justine to follow her. “I need to fill you in.”

  Pausing to drop off the keys to the loaner unit, Ella continued to her office. Behind closed doors, Ella explained about Betty Lott. “See if there’s any legal way to prevent Yazzie from having visitors, except relatives and lawyers.”

  Justine nodded. “That shouldn’t be hard, not when he’s claimed responsibility for the murders and the bomb in the trunk.”

  “I’ve got to go out of town for a couple of days, so I’m counting on you to take care of that. Go to Big Ed for his influence if you have to.”

  “But how can you go away at a time like this?”

  Seeing the puzzled look on Justine’s face, Ella explained.

  “Now he’s manipulating you,” Justine concluded.

  “I’m aware of that, but I’ve still got to know.”

  Justine nodded, accepting Ella’s decision. “I would feel the same way in your shoes. Do you want me to get you a seat on the next flight?”

  “Yes. Make the arrangements through your computer terminal. That would save me time. The sooner I’m out of here, the sooner I can return.” Ella gave Justine her credit card information.

  “I’ll call you at home to let you know your itinerary. I assume you’re on the way back there to pack?”

  “You bet. Thanks, Justine.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Ella packed her weapon inside her small suitcase. She wasn’t traveling in an official capacity, so there was no need to go through the paperwork needed to carry it onboard. She then placed her .22 backup derringer and its holster in a drawer for when she returned.

  Rose watched her daughter. “This is a very bad idea. The past is over and done with. Your husband, like mine, is gone. Nothing will bring either of them back.”

  “If Peterson’s claim is true, do you realize how much control the skinwalkers have had over my life? Eugene’s death led to my becoming a federal cop, and I’m back on the Rez now because of what the skinwalkers did to my father. It may turn out that they’ve been manipulating me all my adult life.”

  “And now you’re allowing it to continue. Forget what Peterson said. Go on with what you have to do.”

  “I can’t, Mom. I won’t be able to concentrate on this case with this hanging over my head. It’ll stay right there in the back of my mind, and keep coming up when I need to think about other things.”

  “I know you loved your husband, but whatever changes his death made in your life have only been for the good. You found yourself and your strengths after his wind breath left his body.”

  “Yes, and I’ll hold on to that if it does turn out that the Navajo witches were responsible. It’s ironic, really. Should this prove to be true, all they’ve done is create an enemy who has the skill to fight and destroy them.” Ella glanced at the hunting fetish her brother had given her and set it next to the blazer she’d wear on the flight. She’d need it now more than ever. “Do you understand why I have to go and find the truth?”

  Rose nodded. She was about to say more when the telephone rang. Ella picked it up, thinking it would be Justine with her flight information. Instead a man’s voice came over the wire.

  “Yes, this is Detective Clah,” Ella answered.

  “This is James Anderson. I’m an attorney. At this hour, FBI headquarters in Los Angeles is being served with a lawsuit. It’s my duty to inform you that you, as an individual, are being sued for Wrongful Death. Copies of the documents will be delivered to your office via courier. My clients, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Campbell, are the parents of the boy you shot to death in the diner in Los Angeles last August.”

  “Wrongful death? What are you talking about? That case was investigated by both the local police and the FBI. It was judged to be a righteous shooting. The man had taken hostages, and was methodically shooting them. He even had a bomb, for god’s sake!”

  “My clients’ son was mentally ill, and you lost control of the situation.”

  The accusation, though from a total stranger, came too close to the reality of the hostage incident in Farmington. The chord it struck made Ella’s throat tighten, and for a moment she could scarcely breathe. “The bureau’s attorney and a tribal attorney will contact you,” she said in clipped tones, then took down his name, address, and number.

  “Do it soon, Special Investigator Clah.”

  Ella slammed the phone down. No law enforcement person ever walked away from a shooting unscathed. There was always a lot of second-guessing and sorrow. But she’d done her best and saved lives in every instance. There was no way anyone could blame her for the psycho’s death in Los Angeles, even if she did fire the bullets that took him down. How many more people would he have shot if she hadn’t stopped him? Her friend Jeremy had been badly wounded, along with several of the customers at the diner. Campbell had planned to finish them all off; he’d said so at the time. His family had no case at all.

  The telephone rang again the moment she set it down. She picked it up wondering if it would be Anderson again, but this time it was Justine. Ella jotted down the flight information. “Thanks, Justine. I need you to do something else for me while I’m gone.” She explained the call she’d just received. “Get one of the tribal attorneys to call the L.A. FBI office and find out about this lawsuit. They have no case, trust me.” Yet even as she said it, she knew many cops sued by the public had lost to smart lawyers playing on the court’s sympathy.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Justine said. “You better get going, or you’ll miss your connecting flight to Albuquerque.”

  Ella was reaching for her suitcase when a strong gust of wind slammed against the side of the house, spiraling in through her open window. “Dust devil,” Ella said as the curtains fluttered everywhere, brushing papers and a silk flower arrangement onto the floor.

  “Ssssuu!” Rose whispered the sound used to tell the ill wind it wasn’t welcome.

  As Ella started to gather up what had been blown to the floor, her mother crouched next to her. “Go. I’ll take care of this.”

  Ella zipped up her small traveling bag, then put on her pressed blazer. “I’ll be back in two days,” she said, and rushed out the door.

  * * *

  The flight back east took most of the night, with stops and layovers in Albuquerq
ue, Dallas, and Atlanta. It was close to one in the morning when Ella finally arrived at her destination. Tired, she checked into the Columbus airport hotel and asked for a seven o’clock wake-up call.

  Morning came quickly, and Ella woke up disoriented, looking curiously around for a few seconds before she remembered where she was. Away from home, even in a southern city that moved at a pace close to that of the reservation, she felt curiously homesick. The emotion surprised her. She’d spent years away, with not even a twinge of desire to return. She’d obviously changed a lot in the past few months, more than she’d been aware.

  Ella reached into the pocket of the jacket she’d worn on the flight, searching for her fetish. That touch of home would soothe her spirit now. Finding the pocket empty, Ella suddenly remembered the dust devil that had cleared everything from her dresser. In the confusion, she’d mislaid the small carving and left it behind. Regretting the oversight, she reluctantly prepared to begin her day.

  Ella showered and dressed, then rented a car. She’d drive to the Columbus police department’s downtown station to get whatever details were available from them.

  Twenty-five minutes later, she parked next to the building and went inside. Ella identified herself at the front desk, and a red-haired sergeant came up from the back of the room.

  “We’ve been expecting you, Investigator Clah. Your police chief called to ask for our cooperation. I’ve pulled the file you wanted.” He offered Ella a cup of coffee and a chair next to his desk, then handed her a manila folder. “Everything we’ve got is in there, but it’s not much. I noticed the victim and you have the same last name. Was this a relative of yours?”

  Ella nodded, and looked the sergeant in the eye. “He was my husband.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, er … Investigator.”

  “That’s okay,” Ella answered, silently agreeing that the accident report inside the file would probably be practically useless to her.

  “Can I get you a doughnut?” the sergeant asked, his voice indicating he was trying to somehow make up for the scanty file.

  Ella shook her head and began studying the diagrams of the accident scene. Finally the officer’s notes at the bottom caught her eye. “I wasn’t aware that there had been a hit-and-run aspect to this.”

  He glanced at the report. “This happened about fifteen years ago, so I’ve got to tell you I’m not at all familiar with this case.” He studied the notes, then shrugged. “I would assume this is accurate. Your husband ran off the road, and head-on into a tree. According to the medical reports he hadn’t been drinking or taking any medication. The investigating officer noted sideswipe marks on his vehicle, but they could have been there prior to the accident. Since there weren’t any witnesses, and he wasn’t able to track down any other driver, the case was closed.”

  “Can I talk to the officer who made out this report?”

  “Only if you talk really loud,” the sergeant joked, then his face suddenly reddened as he realized what he’d said. “He’s been dead for about eight years.”

  Ella glanced back at the report.

  “Hey, no offense meant,” he added hastily.

  “None taken.” She jotted down the location where the accident had occurred. “Where exactly is this?”

  “About a mile west of the base, Fort Benning. I guess he was on his way there.”

  “Thanks.” Ella shook hands with the sergeant, almost out of practice now. On the reservation, one never touched a stranger.

  As Ella walked out, she made up her mind to check at the base. Maybe someone there would remember Eugene or his father. If they’d met unexpectedly just before the accident, Eugene wouldn’t have had the chance to tell her about it.

  Ella showed her ID at the gate, then waited as her request to enter Fort Benning was processed. Twenty minutes later, at ranger headquarters, she was informed that none of the officers her husband had served under was still stationed there.

  As a courtesy, the public information officer offered to take her to her husband’s grave. Ella hesitated, then shook her head. Seeing the puzzled look on the young man’s face, and knowing that he had been trying to be helpful, she explained. “My people don’t view death in the same way yours do. My husband’s accomplishments and the man he was have nothing to do with the body in that grave.”

  He seemed to accept that. “Yes, I understand. In my own religion it’s much the same way. We believe the spirit goes on. It’s just that we still feel the need to visit the gravesites.”

  “With us, it’s the opposite,” Ella said, but didn’t elaborate.

  Ella left the base thinking it hadn’t been a wasted trip. She couldn’t prove that her father-in-law had played a part in Eugene’s death, but she was nearly certain he had. The name, the lack of originality in it, Randall Clah’s absence from the station—all made an impressive circumstantial case.

  She wondered if Peterson had known beforehand that she wouldn’t be able to prove anything. The thought rankled her, and her hatred for the man grew. Even locked up, he continued to play a part in her life.

  Ella returned to her hotel room. It wasn’t noon yet, but her mission here had been completed. After checking out, she went straight to the airport. Right now her first priority was to get home and get back to work on the murder case.

  While she was waiting for reservation information, Ella checked with her office. The initial news from Justine had set her mind at ease. She had managed to get a court order prohibiting Peterson from having visitors. But there were no new leads to the killer. Ella was sorely needed back on the case.

  Ella flew standby, unable to get reservations all the way through. By the time she took her seat on the flight from Dallas to Albuquerque, the tension of an uncertain day had taken its toll. She felt exhausted. Finally however, she was well on her way home. She stared outside, but the skies seemed to be filled with clouds, and it was impossible to find any reference point except the lights on the wings. As the ride became bumpy, Ella reached into her pocket, then remembered the fetish was still back home. Air turbulence. She hated it. Taking the headphones from the back of the seat in front of her, she plugged them in and listened to classical music.

  When the flight attendant came by offering coffee, Ella opted for one of the little pillows instead. Maybe she could try to catch up on her sleep. She had at least an hour’s flight time ahead of her, then another short hop to Farmington. Ella shifted until she found a comfortable position, then closed her eyes. Soon she felt her body become light as tension washed out of her.

  “I hate to bother you, but it’s time you and I had a chat,” she heard a voice whisper near her ear.

  Ella blinked her eyes open, wishing she’d been allowed to go to sleep. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the face beside her.

  Peterson Yazzie smiled at her. “You didn’t really think you could elude me, did you?”

  Yazzie sat in the seat beside her, leaning close, his back to the other passengers. His hand, shielded from the view of the others in the cabin, held a gleaming blade.

  Ella felt it slice through the skin beneath her rib cage. There was no place to escape. She grabbed his hand, hoping to pull it back, but he was too strong. Pain washed over her in waves, sapping her strength. Soon the blade would find its mark and kill her. The roar of the jet’s engines filled her ears. She wondered why the last sound she heard couldn’t have been music.

  “Enough!” A voice cut through her pain, and she felt a pair of strong hands shaking her by the shoulders.

  Ella suddenly opened her eyes wide, her lungs sucking in air. For a moment, nothing registered. Blinking, she stared at the stranger who’d taken the seat next to her. He smiled and let go of her.

  “Who are you?” she asked. The handsome, gray-eyed Anglo was definitely not Peterson Yazzie.

  “I was sitting across the aisle, and I thought for a moment that you were ill. Then I realized you were having a bad dream. I decided to wake you. I hope I did the right
thing.”

  Ella winced as she touched the spot where she’d felt the lethal jab of the blade. It was sore, as if a sharp object had been jammed into her. She ran her hand around the edge of the seat, wondering if something had poked her and she’d incorporated that into her dream. Yet, despite her thoroughness, she found nothing that would explain it.

  Ella suddenly realized that the stranger was watching her curiously. She must have looked like someone whose brain cells constantly misfired.

  “A vivid dream, nothing more,” Ella said for her own benefit as much as his.

  He nodded. “I’m Charles Meles,” he said.

  Ella noticed the trace of an accent. “Thank you for waking me,” she answered. “My name is Ella. Are you from this part of the country?”

  “No, I’m from a little village south of Paris, France. I’m here on holiday. I’m on my way to Arizona to see your much-talked-about Grand Canyon.”

  “I hope you’ll find it as breathtaking as I always have.”

  Meles smiled. “I’ll be close by to awaken you again should you have another disturbing dream.”

  Ella watched the gentleman return to his seat across the aisle. For a moment she couldn’t figure out if it had really been just a vivid dream, or some of Peterson’s skinwalker magic at work. A posthypnotic suggestion, perhaps? She felt angry and tired, and her side was still sore. At least the turbulence had stopped, and she wasn’t going to be jostled around for a while.

  She walked to the restroom at the front of the cabin. There, in the privacy of that closet-sized enclosure, she lifted her blouse and checked her side. A bright red mark, like a burn, was just beneath her rib cage. Of course, it meant nothing. She’d somehow injured her side, or been bitten by an insect, and in her dream state incorporated that into a jumble of her worst fears. Ella clung to that explanation, needing the safety of logic, as she returned to her seat.

  Ella had just settled in when the flight attendant came by and asked if she wanted some coffee. Ella nodded. At least that would keep her awake. She wouldn’t sleep anymore on this journey.