Tracking Bear

by Thurlo, David

  Vera stood up again. “Do you suppose you could come up with an answer before my lunch hour is over?”

  Lena came forward and stood beside Rose. “Please sit down, young lady, and give our speaker time to respond to your question. There’s no need to be rude.”

  Several others echoed Lena’s words, but Vera remained standing in spite of the fact that the young woman next to her kept pulling at her sleeve.

  “I’m glad that you realize that there might be a connection between mining operations and the health and welfare of our children,” Rose began. “If you’re interested, I can tell you briefly about some children I remember, some of them not yet born at the time, who became permanently ill as a result of the biggest spill of radioactive waste in the country. Did you know it took place on our land? Those who survived are about your age now.” Rose shook her head slowly, and started walking away from the podium, a move calculated to keep everyone’s eyes upon her. “Are you able to guarantee, and wager the lives of your children, that it won’t happen again?” Rose stopped and looked directly at Vera.

  The young woman squirmed as the focus turned back to her. Vera muttered something that sounded like “bitch” as she noisily stepped out into the aisle and fled the room. The woman who’d been next to her started to get up, then, deciding not to follow, sat back down instead.

  “We obviously have to reach some sort of middle ground—a settlement that will allow us to keep what is important to our culture and still provide for the economic future of the Dineh. Unfortunately, our impatient friend didn’t wait around to learn how we all can have some of what we want, and what we need, if we plan carefully and do the right thing.” Rose smiled, and walked back to the podium.

  “First of all, if we are going to have various industries on our land, we are going to have to protect the Plant People and Mother Earth. That requires all of us to get better educated on the issues facing us. That’s the real reason I came here today—to contribute, to listen, and continue to learn.”

  Rose knew she was about to take an important step, and that some of the traditionalists would think she was compromising too much, but it was a step that needed to be taken. Vera Jim, in spite of her rash and rude behavior, had made her realize how important it was to walk in another woman’s moccasins for a while.

  The following morning, Ella arrived early for work, ready to tackle a mountain of paperwork. For the first time in days, she actually felt rested. Last night she’d played with Dawn, helped her telephone her father, and heard a million stories about her friend’s new pony. Dawn was determined to find a way to get them to buy her a horse of her own.

  In desperation, Ella had offered to buy Dawn a lamb or a goat, but that was as far as she was willing to go. She just didn’t have it in the budget to cover feed, vet bills, riding lessons, saddles and tack, and the rest of the expenses a pony would bring.

  Yet, although it was out of the question now, Ella knew she’d have to cave in and buy Dawn a horse someday. Owning a horse was practically a rite of passage here on the Rez, and it didn’t seem right to deny that to Dawn when she was older. Both Clifford and she had grown up with a few goats and a horse to take care of, to teach them responsibility. In fact, the corral that they’d so painstakingly built was still intact. It had been one of the tasks their father had assigned to them and then had supervised. Her father, who’d been a preacher, had referred to the animals as his “other flock.”

  Dawn was still very young, however. She wouldn’t be getting a horse for several more years, so there was no sense in worrying about that now.

  Ella sat down at her desk, and turned on her computer. It took a while to come on-line, but at least the system appeared to be working today. She’d complete her manpower report first, then take another stab at finding out more about Professor Kee Franklin.

  Ella had been at it for fifteen minutes when Justine walked in. “I’ve got the information you asked me to get. Larry Tso is pro-NEED and considered a very influential modernist.”

  “Any record?”

  “Larry has a few parking tickets in Farmington, but that’s it.”

  “You have his address?” Ella asked.

  “You bet.”

  “Then let’s go to work, partner.” Although she’d told Justine about Larry Tso yesterday, they’d had no time to follow up the possible lead until now, and Ella was eager to get going.

  Moments later they were on their way. It was early, barely seven-thirty.

  “You know, almost everything that’s going on around here of a criminal nature—well except for a few petty thefts—seems to involve NEED to some degree. Have you noticed that?” Justine asked.

  Ella nodded slowly. “And Professor Franklin plays a major role in NEED, so he’s definitely a player in all this. But we still don’t have anything solid. Until we do, we have to pursue aggressively anything that turns up.”

  “So it’s on to see Larry Tso. Where you do you want to try first—his house or his restaurant?”

  “I don’t think the restaurant has a breakfast business. Let’s go to his home. The earlier it is, the more off guard he should be to our questions.”

  They were nearly at the Tso residence when Ella’s cell phone rang. She was surprised to hear Sheriff Taylor’s voice.

  “I’d like you to come out to the Angel Peak turnoff south of Bloomfield. A Navajo man’s been murdered—he was shot to death. We’re still working the crime scene, but we found a matchbook nearby. It’s from the Fair Winds Restaurant. I believe a Navajo man owns that place as well.”

  “Talk about coincidences. Yes, his name is Larry Tso. I was on my way to question him at his home on an unrelated matter. But we’ll come see you first. Be there in forty-five minutes, less if the traffic is good.” Ella hung up and glanced at Justine. “Turn around. We’re going to Angel Peak, south of Bloomfield. Homicide scene.” Ella placed her cell phone back in its case while Justine found a place to make a three-point turn.

  “A pattern’s emerging, though right now it’s more like separate pieces of yarn that have only just begun to be woven together.”

  “Searching for the pattern,” Justine mused. “You’re getting to sound more like a traditionalist every day,” she said, teasing.

  “Navajo teachings are useful to everyone, including cops—we just view them from a different angle,” Ella said with a ghost of a smile. “Now hit the emergency lights.”

  Fifteen

  A deputy met them at the junction of the main highway and the Angel Peak turnoff, and led them to the crime scene in an arroyo a few miles east down one of the gas well service roads.

  The entire area was dotted with natural gas wells, which fed their production to a plant just outside Bloomfield, north of Angel Peak, and other sites. The victim was in a car down in an arroyo just off one of the dirt service roads. The immediate area around the vehicle had been cordoned off with crime-scene tape, and several county crime-scene investigators were working the scene.

  Ella couldn’t decide if it was a sin or a blessing to have died near such a breathtaking place. A quarter mile farther east, the vast mesa they were standing upon gave way to beautiful sandstone spires and sculptures reminiscent of Bryce Canyon in Utah, but less colorful and on a much smaller scale.

  Sheriff Taylor, seeing them pull up, went over to their car. “It’s messy,” he warned. “He was shot to death in his car. One bullet to the head.”

  “Close up, from behind?” Ella asked.

  “Yeah, the victim has what looks like powder burns.”

  “What else have you got besides the matchbook?”

  “According to the driver’s license photo, which matches enough of his face to make the ID, we know that the victim is Robert Whitesheep.”

  “I know him,” Justine said. “He supports the idea of a nuclear power plant, but is against the NEED proposal. He wants outsiders who have experience with that sort of thing handling the critical stuff for the tribe.”

  “Are
you sure?” Ella asked surprised.

  “Yeah, he dated my sister, Jayne.”

  “You think all the murders here and the ones on the Rez are related to that nuclear power plant proposal?” Taylor looked at Ella, then Justine.

  “We’re certainly looking at the possibility at the moment,” Ella said. “Mix money, politics, and high emotion, and trouble’s bound to follow.”

  Justine caught Sheriff Taylor’s attention. “Would you mind if I take a look around? I won’t disturb the scene or touch anything.”

  “Go ahead, Officer Goodluck.” Taylor glanced back at Ella. “I wanted you to be in on this because I suspected it was linked to the murders over on the reservation,” Taylor said, showing Ella the matchbook they’d found, now in a signed and numbered plastic bag, as Justine slipped under the yellow tape to move in closer. “Since you seem to have guessed the killer’s execution-style methods, I guess I was on the right track. Tell me more.”

  Briefly, she told him what she had on Officer Franklin and Councilman Redhouse’s deaths so far, and the various leads she was investigating. “Yet, no matter how I turn it around, the fact is that people who are or seem to be against the NEED project are the ones who turn up dead.”

  “Since this murder happened on my turf, I’m going to want everything you can give me on Whitesheep and the owner of the restaurant.”

  “You’ll have it, but let’s keep communication open both ways. I’d like your findings as well. Especially any info about the bullet used to kill Whitesheep, if you manage to recover it.”

  “Not a problem,” Taylor responded.

  Justine returned, and nodded to Taylor. “Thanks for the opportunity to look around. Your team seems to have it all together. Will we get a chance to look at the report?”

  “Investigator Clah and I have already agreed to share information on the recent murders,” Sheriff Taylor replied, “and any new discoveries that may point in their direction.”

  “By the way, I have to go talk to Larry Tso on another matter. Do you want me to question him about his connection to the murder victim here?” Ella asked.

  “Yeah. I’d appreciate it. I’m going to have my hands full for a while here. Call me later and fill me in,” Taylor said. Nodding to both officers, he added. “I’m sure our paths will be crossing again on these cases. We’re dealing with a cold-blooded killer here. Watch your backs.”

  “You too, Sheriff,” Ella replied.

  As Taylor walked back to join his crime-scene unit, Ella and Justine returned to their vehicle.

  “You said you knew the victim?” Ella asked Justine as soon as they were under way.

  “Yeah. He and his father were really on the outs. His dad is a traditionalist, dead set against bringing leetso, the yellow monster, back among the People.”

  Ella remembered the traditionalist beliefs her mother had taught her. One way to defeat an enemy was to name it. That’s how the uranium had been named—leetso meant “yellow dirt.” But, unfortunately, naming it hadn’t helped defeat the damage that had already been done.

  Justine pursed her lips for a moment. “I can’t swear to this, but I think the dead man was in the same clan as Councilman Redhouse.”

  Ella looked at her partner. “Verify that as soon as you can. This could add a brand-new spin to the councilman’s death.”

  Justine nodded. “I also remember Jayne telling my mother that Robert Whitesheep had been talking about moving off the Rez. He’d been involved in some business that had gone sour.”

  “Did Jayne mention anything more, like who Whitesheep had been dealing with and exactly what had happened?”

  “Not that I recall, but I’ll ask her. She probably knows. Jayne’s as nosy as I am.”

  “This case is really bugging me, Justine. We’re getting led around in circles. It reminds me of one of the creation stories my mother loved to tell us.” Ella’s expression grew distant as she remembered. “One day Sun decided he wanted the People’s riches, so he taught his son, Gambler, how to acquire things for him,” Ella began. “Gambler thought he was invincible, and assured of his own power, he defied his father: Sun got angry and created another who could defeat him. One of the ways Gambler’s adversary got the better of him was by creating doubt in his mind. Once Gambler was no longer sure of himself and his capabilities, that led to his downfall.”

  “Do you think someone’s trying to throw a bunch of false leads at us, hoping to confuse us and make us doubt our ability to solve the crimes?”

  Ella nodded. “I think we’re up against a very smart opponent. He uses what’s there already to muddy up the trail.”

  Once back in Farmington, they stopped by Tso’s restaurant, which only contained the cleanup crew. There they were told Larry was at home today with the flu, and wouldn’t be coming in. They set out again, continuing on west toward the Rez.

  “My gut feeling is that if we can find out what the perp was searching for when he broke into the garage, Wilson’s storeroom, and his home, we’ll have all the answers we need,” Justine said. “The killing of Redhouse has got to be related to that. We know the shooter was the same.” She paused, lost in thought, then added, “You don’t think these could be contract jobs, with different clients but the same perp?”

  “If that’s true, we’ll almost have to stumble across the killer, because none of the motives would fit. But I don’t think that’s the case. We’ll just keep following the trail and see where it takes us.”

  “Next stop, Larry Tso’s.”

  “We need to push Tso hard,” Ella said. “Watch him carefully for body language.”

  Justine nodded, her eyes on the road, but her thoughts obviously on the case, judging from her expression.

  Despite his rumored success in the restaurant business, Larry Tso’s home was a simple pitched-roof stucco-and-wood-frame house in a large area of land just east of Shiprock along the river valley. This meant he or his wife’s family were allottees—one of the many families that had managed to hold on to their land for generations. About a dozen head of sheep could be seen in a corral about fifty yards from the main house.

  Ella knocked hard on the front door, then stepped back, looking around casually. The porch was a painted concrete step, and a metal plate was imbedded into a spot toward the edge to function as a scraper. “Make sure to wipe the mud off your shoes before going in,” she joked, indicating the scraper. Ella couldn’t remember the last time it had rained.

  “Of course, Emily Post,” Justine said with mock seriousness.

  Within thirty seconds, a pretty young Navajo woman in her late teens answered the door. She was wearing jeans and a pale oatmeal-colored turtleneck sweater. A heavy-looking turquoise-and-silver squash blossom hung from around her neck.

  Ella introduced herself, taking out her badge, and Justine remained silent, just producing her own identification.

  “My dad’s sick today. Can you come back tomorrow?”

  “Sorry, no. This may be very important. Can you get him for us?”

  She nodded. “Sure, but he’s going to be in a real bad mood,” the young woman warned.

  The first thing that caught Ella’s eye was that despite the modern setting, the house reflected traditionalists’ tastes. The simplicity of it soothed her. There were sheepskins on the living room floor, a wood-and-coal stove, and meticulously made Navajo rugs hung on the walls. There was no television or radio within sight. The room reminded her of her brother’s medicine hogan, except here there was electricity and the walls were textured and painted drywall instead of fitted pine logs.

  A heavyset man wearing a terry-cloth bathrobe came out from the hall moments later. “My daughter said you just had to talk to me?” he grumbled.

  Ella had to admit that Larry Tso looked ill. His face was flushed, his nose was red, and, as he lowered himself onto one of the sheepskins, his movements were unsteady.

  “I feel awful, so unless you want my flu, I suggest you get on with it,” he snapped.
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br />   “I’m sorry to come at such a time, but there’s been a murder, and we need to ask you some questions.” Ella hesitated, uncertain whether to mention Whitesheep by name or not. Tso’s house was modern, but the style in here spelled traditionalist.

  He wrapped the thick bathrobe even more tightly around himself, revealing sheepskin-lined moccasins on his feet. “Is it cold in here?”

  Ella shook her head, looking toward the woodstove, which was radiating heat even from ten feet away. “It’s a little warm, if you want to know the truth.”

  He shrugged. “It’s this blasted flu then. Okay, speak to me. Who’s turned up dead now, and what does it have to do with me?” Meeting Ella’s gaze, he added, “Don’t let the sheepskins throw you. The things in here are a concession to my wife. I don’t believe in nonsense like the chindi.”

  “Robert Whitesheep,” Ella said softly in deference to Tso’s wife, in case she was within hearing distance.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I know the man. Knew him, rather. Robert came by my restaurant once in a while. Sometimes, when I was free, we talked.”

  “About what?”

  “Local matters. He knew I was a successful businessman, and he wanted my support. He thought a small nuclear power plant was a good idea, but he was totally against the tribe running it, like NEED is pushing for. Robert felt we needed people with more expertise, even though it would mean bringing in a bunch of Anglos.”

  “Did he have any particular company in mind to run it? Arizona Public Service? PNM?”

  “I know he wanted to license the operation, but I don’t think he had any particular company in mind. He just wanted to make sure that we gave it to a company with a lot of experience.” He shrugged. “I didn’t go for that. I’m pro-NEED. We’ve had enough outsiders running things here, and look where that’s gotten us.”

  “Who else was Whitesheep working with on this?”