“Go ahead.”
“My job for a long time was to predict and explain the behavior of subatomic particles. To do that, I had to search for clues that would reveal the system—or, as those of our tribe would say, the pattern. To find my son’s killer, you’ll have to find the pattern of action, understand it, and then you’ll have the upper hand.”
Ella smiled and nodded, used to getting advice on police investigations from well-intentioned civilians whose opinions were often derived from their personal philosophies or extracted from something they’d “learned” from TV or the movies. In Dr. Franklin’s case, she couldn’t help but think of the old series, Kung Fu. Or maybe, because he was older, the Chinese detective, Charlie Chan. “My brother, who is a hataalii, would agree with you one hundred percent.” Ella wondered as soon as she said it that Dr. Franklin might think he was being patronized, but she really didn’t really care if he did at the moment. He was getting off the subject, and still wasn’t being much help to the investigation.
“A medicine man’s view of the world isn’t at all unlike my training as a physicist. A Navajo explains the natural world by looking for the relationship between all things and finding the pattern. Physicists, too, search for explanations by identifying the forces, connections, and systems…patterns, if you will, that weave things together.” Dr. Franklin smiled.
“So your field and a traditionalist’s view are similar?” Justine’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Sure. Physics isn’t much of a stretch for a Navajo. For one, we have an easier time with the required math. Our people live in eight-sided hogans and count their sheep in base eight arithmetic. That and base two are part of computer science, as opposed to base ten, which is at the heart of conventional American mathematics.”
Ella followed him to the door. “Thank you for your time, Professor. If you think of anything that might help us as we investigate, call us right away.”
Ella and Justine went back to the car, and as they reached the main road, Justine glanced over at Ella. “I’ve got an idea. A friend of my sister Jayne, Marie Betone, works at the NEED office. Jayne says Marie’s been home all week with a cold. Why don’t we pay her a visit?”
“All right.” Ella paused. “Did you notice how easily Dr. Franklin went along with the nonburglary motive we suggested? It was as if the same thing had already occurred to him. I can’t seem to lose the feeling that he knows more than he’s telling us. It didn’t take long for him to lead us away from our questioning with his ‘advice.’”
“We can’t force him to confide in us,” Justine said. “So now what?”
“We dig deeper.” It was more than a search for justice. This was about restoring harmony. One of their own had been taken, and now she would do whatever it took to restore the balance.
Nine
Twenty-five minutes later they arrived at a solitary house at the end of a narrow road surrounded by dried-out alfalfa fields on the eastern outskirts of Shiprock. The fading white paint on the warped wood trim of the old farmhouse was nearly gone, and there were holes approximately waist high in the stucco where it looked like a horse had kicked the wall.
The ground around the building consisted of dead, brownish red tumbleweeds and beaten-down yellow-tipped buffalo grass in random clumps. A dog on a long chain wrapped around a basketball goalpost barked from the backyard as they parked, but didn’t bother getting up.
“Marie is a modernist. We don’t have to wait for an invitation before approaching the front door,” Justine said, reaching for the door handle.
“Have you ever met her?” Ella asked.
“I’ve seen her once or twice, but like I said, she’s Jayne’s friend. Jayne knows a lot of people around here. That’s why I asked her who might have an insider’s view of NEED. She recommended Marie.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Marie met them at the door less than fifteen seconds after Justine knocked, having obviously heard them coming up the dirt lane. She was in her midtwenties and had long black hair that swept down to her waist. She was slim, barely five feet tall, and pale. She had a wool blanket wrapped around herself and held it against her tightly. “Come in. It’s cold out there.”
Marie gestured for them to take a seat on the couch. “Would you like some tea?” She pointed to a small ceramic pot resting on a wooden trivet on the coffee table. “It’s an herbal remedy for colds, but it’s pretty good anyway, if you like mint.” She sneezed, then reached for a box of tissues.
“I guess I don’t have to ask why you’re home, huh?” Justine teased, seeing the pile of balled-up, used tissue that filled the wicker trash container.
Marie smiled. “I get a cold once a year. This is it.”
“We came to ask you a little bit about the NEED project and the people involved with it,” Ella said.
Marie nodded. “Jayne said you’d probably stop by.” Marie proceeded to give them a lot of information they already knew about the objectives of NEED. Finally, she added, “The people I work with really care about the tribe. They’re well educated and know what they’re talking about, and believe they’re doing the right thing. At the moment, NEED is trying to recruit more people that the tribe respects and who have some scientific background, but it’s not easy. We have scientists and experts, but each one of them has their own opinions, and they’re not always pro-NEED.”
“Who have they tried to recruit, do you know?” Ella asked.
“George Charley, who heads NEED, has been after Professor Kee Franklin for a long time, but Kee’s not interested. Joseph Keeswood, on the other hand, did get involved. Unfortunately, his credentials aren’t as impressive as Professor Franklin’s.”
“I don’t know Joseph Keeswood. Who is he?”
“He attended that private Navajo school in Farmington, then spent most of his life off the Rez. But he lives here now. He went to one of those prestigious colleges back East—M.I.T., I think. He’s a chemist, and he’s well thought of by almost everyone. He works in the same department as Delbert Shives at the power plant.”
“Is George Charley a physicist?”
“Technically, yes, but he’s only got a bachelor’s degree, which wasn’t enough to get him hired anywhere doing research. In that field you need at least a master’s or Ph.D. But he’s always read a lot, and makes a living now by doing freelance writing for different scientific publications.”
“That’s got to be rough—the uncertainty of his income, I mean,” Justine said.
“He has some land on the Rez, and access to water, I heard. He has a few sheep, grows some melons, corn, and alfalfa, and writes his articles. He isn’t rich, but he gets by.”
“How did he get involved with NEED?” Justine asked.
“He’s the one who started it. During the research phase for one of his articles, he learned about some new technology that would make a nuclear power plant possible here. That led him to start the NEED project. His first step was getting investors. After that, he started contacting prominent people here on the Rez—those the Dineh trusted.”
“Like who, besides the ones you mentioned?” Ella asked.
“People who have degrees in science, like professors at the college and teachers at the high school. He’s also gotten some of our medicine men interested, but most of them are afraid of getting publicly involved in something like this.”
“Has NEED made any enemies trying to pressure people to join them?” Ella asked.
Marie glared at her. “George persuades, he doesn’t pressure or use strong-arm tactics.” She paused for a moment then continued stiffly. “George is an honorable man who believes in what he’s doing.”
“Do you think he’ll keep trying to persuade Kee Franklin?” Ella asked.
“Oh yeah, he never gives up. Besides, George is convinced we really need Dr. Franklin on our side. But the hitch seems to be Dr. Franklin’s fear that the new technology isn’t as foolproof as people think, and that what happened to our people before can happen again.”
“Dr. Franklin’s a highly educated man,” Justine said. “Maybe his point of view is valid.”
She shrugged. “I wish I could tell you more about it, but to be honest, when they argued, I couldn’t understand either of them.”
“Argued?” Ella asked casually.
“Wednesday Dr. Franklin came to the office, and he and George got into a huge argument.”
Ella looked at Justine. That was the day after Jason had been murdered.
“They argued about technical stuff?” Justine asked.
“I’m not really sure what started it, or what they were really saying. I came in after lunch, and I heard the argument already going on in George’s office. Then Dr. Franklin stormed out. A minute or two later, George left, too, saying he had to go cool off. I didn’t see George until the next morning.”
“Did you ever see Officer Jason Franklin at the NEED office?”
She shook her head. “Like his father, he was against NEED, but Jason wasn’t one of the people we were trying to recruit.” She looked at Justine, then back at Ella. “I’m so sorry to hear that he was killed—” She abruptly stopped speaking, her eyes suddenly growing wide. “You don’t think George or NEED had anything to do with that, do you? I mean there’s no way. We didn’t even talk to Officer Franklin!”
“Calm down,” Ella said. “Our questions are all routine.”
“Okay. I guess you’re just doing your job.” Marie grabbed for a tissue just in time to cover a sneeze. “Look, if you don’t have any more questions, I’d really like to excuse myself. My cold tablets are wearing off, as you can tell, and I’m really feeling lousy.”
Saying good-bye, Ella walked with Justine back outside to the unit. “That went well, even if she did get a little pissed off at us toward the end.”
“She’s protective of George Charley,” Justine said. “My guess is that she’s got a thing for him.”
“So let’s go over to the NEED office and talk to him next,” Ella said.
Rose stood in the lobby of the tribal power plant administrative center, waiting for the public affairs director, an Anglo man in his fifties, to come out and talk to her. She was wearing her turquoise and silver, her long dark velvet skirt, and her best sweater and shawl. Her hair was in a traditional bun, tied up with a silver barrette. Today, she was here to fight for the Plant People—for eclamation of the land.
“Mrs. Destea?” A very tall, balding Hispanic man with a pleasant smile and a bright yellow tie with birds on it came across the small room to greet her. “How can I help you?”
“I understand that you’re the one who knows about the land reclamation efforts.”
“Yes. My name’s Peter Chavez. Please come in,” he said, showing her into his office.
Rose sat down, noting that the red-eyed birds painted on the man’s tie were Western grebes, a bird common to the nearby lake that provided cooling water for the power plant. She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. Chavez seemed pleasant enough, but experience told her that didn’t mean he’d cooperate.
She got right to the point. “I know that the power plant and coal mines that supply it with fuel have done some land reclamation. I’ve seen some of the areas you’ve worked on.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “We’re very proud of the areas we’ve replanted. You can see long stretches of green now, and the lake is home for many species of birds.”
“Yes, but I’m more concerned about the ground cover away from the lake and canals. Out of the plants you’ve used, which have shown the highest rate of survival?”
“Well, not all of our efforts have been equally productive, that’s for sure, but we’ve had great luck with many varieties.”
“I’m trying to put together a specific list of the plants that do well in your reclamation areas.”
“Are you here, then, to gauge our success rate?” he asked warily.
“In a way. As you know, some of the plants the company planted aren’t regional varieties, native to the area, and need fertilizer and lots of water. Most of them quickly dried up and died once they were left on their own. I represent people who are very worried that our native plants are quickly disappearing. We want to make sure that your reclamation efforts include native plants that will be able to survive out here—not just at this particular location, but around the other mining reclamation spots on the reservation as well.”
“We strip mine, peeling back layers sometimes hundreds of feet deep, and that does take a toll on the land. But we are restoring the affected areas little by little, though it’s a long, expensive process.”
“I really need to know specifically which native plants you’ve reintroduced and how those plants have fared. The reason I’m asking is not just to judge the results of your reclamation efforts. The tribe is now considering resuming uranium-mining operations, but the group I represent wants to first reclaim the land past generations damaged. Knowing which plants have done well for you will help us a great deal.”
“Uranium mining’s impact on the earth, soil, and water table is totally different from anything we do here. You’ll need information more specific to that, and I know just who you should speak to. His name is Delbert Shives. He’s one of our chemists, but before he came to work for us, he was employed by one of the uranium companies that worked in this area. He stayed with them until the mines and the mills closed down. I’m sure he’ll know exactly what impact uranium mining has on the soil and be able to give you accurate information about replanting.”
“Then I’ll talk to him. Can you set up an appointment?”
“You bet. I’ll do it right now.”
Rose watched him dialing and had to fight not to smile. Poor Mr. Chavez was very glad to be getting rid of her, if only for the moment. Rose knew that these days people saw her mostly as a troublemaker, but she loved the work she was doing. She was restoring balance, and harmony. She was walking in beauty.
Justine pulled up to a low cinder-block building in what was half-heartedly called downtown Shiprock, just east of the main junction and a short distance from the small Catholic church and the old high school, now a large elementary school.
Years ago the building used to house what was then called a dime store, Ella recalled. The only distinction the old building had now was a hand-lettered and painted wooden sign that read, “NEED.” The display windows, never very large to begin with, were covered by blinds.
“Not exactly impressive,” Ella commented.
“What did you expect? This is just a rented, temporary site, like a politician’s election headquarters.”
“Yeah, I know, and from what Marie said, we’re dealing with a man who feels he has a calling to do what he’s doing. Those types aren’t big on aesthetics generally. It’s a form of tunnel vision,” she joked quietly.
They walked to the aluminum-and-glass door, also equipped with blinds, and Ella pulled it open. It was pretty dark inside. The fluorescent lights overhead were turned off, and the only illumination in the room came from light leaking between the blinds. Farther in the room, the glow of a desktop computer monitor came from a unit at one of five inexpensive-looking office tables.
About twenty folding chairs were around the tables, and upon the central table rested a large architect’s model of the projected facility. A big partition made of painted plywood served to divide what was formerly one big room into two. No one was visible in the room they occupied, but a light was on, visible through the makeshift passageway between rooms.
Justine and Ella exchanged a quick look, and Ella unbuckled the strap of her holster, keeping her hand near it just in case.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
They heard a loud crash from somewhere inside the next room, and the sound of someone in pain.
Ella drew her weapon and ducked, moving swiftly to a position low to the floor, where she could peer into the next room. Justine backed her up as Ella sneaked a look.
A Navajo man in his thirties, we
aring dress slacks and a white shirt but no tie, was lying on the floor rubbing his knee. Beside him was a toppled stepladder and two halves of a long board. Books were scattered all around.
Ella placed her weapon back in its holster, then turned and nodded to Justine, who was moving closer now. “Are you injured?” she asked, approaching him. “Do you need an ambulance?”
The man sat up slowly, looking at her, then Justine, who was now standing in the passageway. “No. I’m okay,” he grumbled. “I just tried to put too many books on the shelf.”
Ella gave him a hand up, and he gave her a wry smile. “Now that I’ve undoubtedly impressed both of you gun-toting hopefully police officers, tell me what I can do for you.”
Ella laughed. The man had a wonderful smile. Glancing at Justine out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her partner had noticed it, too. Ella pulled out her badge and identified herself and Justine. “We’re just here to find out more about NEED for background on a case we’re working.”
“I’m George Charley,” he said, sitting down on one of the folding chairs, and motioning them to do the same. “I’m the spokesperson and founder of the NEED project. I’ll help you in any way I can.”
Ella sat down at a table next to his, and Justine remained standing where she could see the entrance. “Well, for starters, I understand that you’re trying to gather qualified Navajo consultants and experts in related fields to support the NEED goals.”
He nodded. “It’ll give us even more credibility.”
“Tell me how you go about presenting the nuclear power plant concept, and asking for support. I understand that you and Professor Kee Franklin have had some differences, and you haven’t been able to convince him that the NEED project will be good for our tribe.”
George nodded slowly. “Dr. Franklin understands our vision better than most, but the harm the tribe has been subjected to in the past broke his spirit. He’s seen too many deaths to look forward to new and better lives for the Navajos still to come. But I haven’t given up on him.”
Tracking Bear Page 11
