by Aimée Thurlo
“Or he knew who did. Before the man buried here was killed, the Night Crew just carried out strong-arm robberies and carjackings, never inflicting serious injuries on their victims. But after they murdered a prominent silversmith, they got everyone’s attention, including the tribal president. I’m now working with APD, two county sheriff’s departments, and my own tribal unit on this investigation. My focus is on the killer, but putting a stop to the carjackings would be a real bonus. I can’t wait to bring these animals in,” Al added.
They walked over to the run-down fence that bordered the graveyard and took a look around. The cemetery wasn’t much—basically desert, wild grasses, tumbleweeds, sagebrush, sand, and a dozen or more aluminum markers enclosing paper notices under glass with the names of the deceased. A few also had wooden crosses—these were Navajo Christians—but mostly the place looked abandoned.
“Think we can use a flashlight,” Gordon suggested, bringing out a small LED light that emitted a bright, narrow beam.
“Don’t wave it around too much, Gordon,” Al warned. “We’re not supposed to be here, I’m not supposed to be a cop, and graveyards make most Navajos nervous.”
“Especially those where bodies have been dug up. I see some mounded dirt to our left, up the fence line. Didn’t the smith get reburied?” Charlie asked.
“Don’t really know,” Al replied. “Nobody really wanted to talk to the tribal officers about it and I’m not in a position to go asking. Not if I want to remain undercover. Let’s look around. There’s an opening in the fence just to your right.”
“Besides graves, anything I should be on the lookout for?” Gordon asked. “If this wasn’t an ordinary crime, I mean?”
Charlie knew what he meant. “Markings on the ground with charcoal, mutilated animals, stuff like that.”
“Twisted, perverted stuff,” Al added. “Who knows?”
A minute later they approached the mounded dirt. “The grave is still open,” Gordon whispered, bringing out his flashlight. “Oh shit.”
Charlie looked down. “I thought you said they just robbed the grave. This guy was fried to a crisp.”
The three of them stood beside the hole in the ground, staring down at the burned remains of a wooden casket. The smell was pungent and all too familiar to Charlie.
“Put your hands in the air!” a woman ordered from somewhere behind them. “I’m a police officer.”
Chapter Three
“Yáaééh, Officer,” Charlie greeted, putting his hands in the air, as did Al and Gordon. “We’re just looking around. We heard about the grave robbing of the silversmith. And we’re not armed except for a couple of pocketknives,” he added, hoping that Al wasn’t strapped while working undercover.
Remaining as still as possible, he slowly turned his head and noted the outline of a slender woman wearing a tan tribal department uniform. She’d assumed an aggressive stance. One hand held a flashlight, the other a handgun, and both were aimed in their direction. The light shifted back and forth, but the glare was enough to keep him from making out any other details, like her face. She sounded young.
“Two of you look Navajo, but this is Navajo tribal land and I need to see some ID. You, the one who’s been doing the talking. You’re first.” She aimed the beam directly into Charlie’s face, then moved it down his body, probably checking for weapons. “Take out your wallet, slowly, with your left hand, and toss it over to me,” the officer ordered.
“Of course, Officer.” Charlie followed her instructions slowly and carefully, not taking his eyes off her. He’d seen people shot, justly or unjustly, when the soldier with the weapon was nervous or had misinterpreted a gesture.
“Okay, hands back up until I say you can lower them again.” She crouched down carefully, feeling for the wallet with her flashlight hand without taking her eyes off him. “Thank you, Mr. Henry,” she added a few seconds later, taking a look at his ID.
“You’re welcome, ma’am.”
“You own a business in Albuquerque?”
“Yes, FOB Pawn, like it says on the business card.”
“You also have a concealed carry permit. Where’s the weapon?”
“Under the driver’s seat of my vehicle over there,” Charlie confirmed.
“You’re carrying an old military ID card. You related to that Diné soldier they held a parade for a couple of years ago in Shiprock? The army war hero?” the officer added, her tone still unchanged.
“I don’t know about the hero part, but I’m the guy,” Charlie admitted. “The parade was a bit embarrassing, actually.”
“You deserved to be thanked for your service, soldier. Is there any reason why I can’t trust your companions, Sergeant Henry?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Okay, then. You three can put down your hands and turn around. I’m Officer Nakai with the tribal police. I hope you understand my caution. I’ve been keeping an eye on this cemetery since the incident, hoping those bastards will return.”
The woman officer was as short as Gordon and probably weighed less than one twenty-five. She had shiny, long black hair in a ponytail extending from her cap. Officer Nakai looked nineteen, but had to be at least twenty-one, Charlie guessed. She was also working alone and was probably miles from backup.
“Do you think this grave robbing was more than just theft?” Al asked. “Just curious.”
“If it hadn’t been for the desecration of the body, I would have said it was just vandalism and theft,” Officer Nakai replied.
“What did they use to start the fire?” Gordon asked.
“I was the first officer on the scene. I found an empty gas can beside the remains,” the officer replied. “But I wouldn’t carry stories if I were you, it’ll just confuse the investigation. There are several agencies working to catch the people who killed the silversmith. That’s what’s important.”
“I hope they get their man,” Al said. “Well, guys, we’d better get going. You’ve still got that inventory work at the pawnshop to finish tonight, Charlie.”
They walked out through the gate, followed by the officer. Charlie brought out his keys and the doors to his Charger chirped open with a double beep. As Gordon and Al climbed in, Charlie turned to the officer. “Sorry if we caused any problems, ma’am. I guess the lack of excitement in my life has made me extra curious when a well-known member of our tribe is murdered.”
“My pop served in Kuwait. I’ve seen how war can change your perspective, Sergeant Henry. I hope you can get back to the routine of normal civilian life before too long.”
“That’s my plan,” Charlie responded. “Stay safe, Officer Nakai.”
“You stay safe too, Mr. Henry. By the way, I read the reports about the shooting at the pawnshop today. Helluva way to unwind after all that—going to check out a graveyard. Better to stay away from cemeteries, don’t you think?”
Charlie shrugged. There wasn’t much he could say. Nodding to the tribal officer, he climbed into the Charger and headed back for the interstate.
* * *
Several minutes went by before anyone spoke. “Thanks for protecting my cover, Charlie. Must be tough being a war hero, having to fight off all that attention from the women. Bet you’ve seen a lot of horizontal action since you’ve been home,” Al suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.
Charlie kept his eyes on the road. They’d always been competitive, and Al often worked overtime trying to get him distracted or defensive, either with trash talk, or in this case sarcasm and false praise. He’d heard some of this crap the last time he’d been around Al, who, out of envy or jealousy from the attention he’d received, had begun to belittle his military service whenever they were alone. Charlie knew that his brother was falling apart on the job and had his own problems, so he’d ignored the comments. Striking out was Al’s defense mechanism, an unfortunate trait for a police officer who often had to deal with people who were already upset. Because Al was trying to provoke a reaction, Charlie chose, whenever possible, to
just let it slide.
Another five minutes went by in silence. “The grave robbers dug up the casket, took the necklace and whatever else they could find, then set fire to the body,” Gordon said. “I thought the people we were trying to rule out usually stole the corpse, then cut it up to make ceremonial displays—or whatever they’re called. Tokens of power for rituals,” Gordon added, looking over at Charlie.
Charlie nodded. “From what I remember hearing while growing up, showing off mutilated bodies and stealing body parts for medicine was something these Navajo witches did to stimulate fear. Violating taboos is their thing. That the way you remember it, Al?” Charlie replied, not looking back at his brother in the backseat.
“People didn’t talk much about these things, but yeah, that’s what I recall. Training and experience tells me that whoever burned the body did it for other reasons—anger, hate, revenge,” Al concluded.
“For major league payback, to mess them up real good. That what you’re saying?” Gordon replied.
“Pretty much,” Al admitted.
“Okay. So, the theory is that whoever confronted the silversmith after he left the casino planned on doing more than just robbing him, they wanted him dead. And when he was buried with his most valued possessions, they dug him up and stole the stuff,” Charlie said.
“Then killed him one more time, symbolically, by setting him ablaze,” Gordon concluded.
“But they didn’t want to be identified, so when the necklace got into the girlfriend’s hands and she decided to hock it, they had to get it back because it could tie the killers to these crimes,” Al added. “Works for me.”
“This Lola woman can’t be that bright, guys, if she was willing to connect herself with stolen property linked to a murder,” Gordon pointed out.
“Which suggests she wasn’t the killer. I’m thinking she didn’t know it was stolen, or at least when and how it was taken,” Al replied. “Not that it’s going to save her ass. The guys who got away are going to be pissed at her now. I kind of feel sorry for Lola Tso.”
“Okay, but let’s get back to the original crime, which doesn’t make sense to me either. If these carjackers are responsible for all the prior robberies, why kill the silversmith and bring on the extra heat? Why not just rob their victim and steal his car like they usually do?” Charlie asked. “We’re missing the motive. Why would they kill the guy, then rob his grave and burn up the body, what, three or four days later?”
“Maybe they hadn’t planned on killing him in the first place, but when he fought back they had to take him out. The desecration and grave robbing later on, who knows? That’s why I’m trying to get connected with the Night Crew,” Al said. “Once we’re back at the pawnshop, I’m going to go bar hopping. My contact is dead, but maybe I can meet up with some of the others.”
“They’ll probably be going to ground for a while, don’t you think?” Gordon asked. “Besides, one of them got shot.”
“APD and county are checking hospitals, ERs, and clinics. Unfortunately, there’s no way of identifying the guys who got away except through their associates,” Al explained. “I’ll check back with the rest of the team and see what they’ve learned so far. You’re right, Gordon. No sense in wasting my time hitting the bars tonight.”
“You should arrange a meeting with Detective DuPree and get his take on this, Al. By now, he’s been over the surveillance images a dozen times, and there might be enough to make an ID from when they were still outside—before they put on their masks. The detective sometimes comes across as a bully, but he’s got good cop instincts, and he’ll listen to other theories if they fit the facts,” Charlie suggested. Now that they’d reached Albuquerque, he took the freeway exit and headed north up Second Street.
“I really want to catch these guys, bro,” Al confessed. “The murder was big news on the Rez, and Window Rock would like a tribal cop to be in on the takedown. I’m the only tribal cop actually on the team in the field. Making an arrest would put me back in solid with the department.”
“God’s ears,” Gordon said.
“Huh?” Al asked.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Charlie clarified.
“Oh, yeah,” Al replied. “After today, I’m going to need all the help I can get to crack this murder investigation. This carjacking crew may sit back for a while, and if things go stagnant, I could get pulled off the case and back onto patrol duty.”
“You’re a good cop, you’ll think of something,” Charlie reminded him.
“Thought you’d given up on me,” Al said softly.
An awkward silence followed until Charlie’s cell phone rang. “Get that for me, Gordo,” Charlie asked, motioning toward the center console where he’d parked the device.
Despite the state ordinance against cell phone use while driving, Charlie would normally have taken the call, but he was still a little pumped up on adrenaline and didn’t want to lose focus behind the wheel now that they were driving into the city.
“It’s Gina,” Gordon announced. “Putting you on speaker,” he added, placing the phone back on the console beside the stick.
“Charlie, I heard you and your friends had a rough time today. Everyone okay? You okay?” came the sweet, soft voice of Gina Sinclair, Charlie’s old high school girlfriend. She’d been demoted to best friend after she’d come out. Gina was now APS Sergeant Nancy Medina’s life partner. She was also his and Gordon’s attorney.
“What did Nancy tell you?” Charlie asked.
“That there was a robbery attempt, that one of the robbers was dead, and that you and Gordon rescued a hostage the perps had grabbed. Oh, and that one of the escapees was probably wounded. That about it?”
Charlie looked over at Gordon, who shrugged. “Yeah. Did Nancy happen to find out anything else?” Charlie asked.
“The woman who pawned the target of the robbery, Lola Tso, has a connection with Nancy,” Gina replied.
“What kind of connection?” Gordon asked.
“Nancy asked me to hold off on that until she got the chance to talk face-to-face. You up for a late-night cup of coffee after she gets off duty?”
“Sure. Who needs sleep?” Charlie responded, glancing over at Gordon, who nodded. “Besides, we have some work to do at the shop.”
“Shot up the place pretty bad, huh?” Gina asked.
“Nothing a mop can’t handle,” Gordon said.
“Gross. You’d better use Clorox and get the splatter and smell taken care of before we arrive. We’ll give you a call when we’re on our way. Okay?”
“Sounds good. See you then,” Charlie added, nodding to Gordon, who ended the call with a touch to the screen.
“Gina? Is she the same Gina Sinclair who broke your heart by switching teams your senior year?” Al asked from the backseat. “Woman on woman. What a waste.”
Gordon turned around and looked Al straight in the eye. “Charlie didn’t tell me you could be a real dick. Brothers don’t fight brothers, and if they did, you’d get your ass whipped. You two have a history, I get that, but next time you disrespect Gina or Nancy in front of me I’ll drop you, cop or not.”
Chapter Four
Al sat up straight, anger in his expression, took a deep breath, and eased back into his seat. “Okay, I may have worded that badly. It’s been a long day and it’s not over yet. It won’t happen again, Gordon.”
Gordon shrugged. “Good.” He turned around and looked down the street. They were approaching FOB Pawn, and there were no cars parked along the street this time of the night. There were security lights on in the laundry, the grocery, and the shop, but everything seemed dead quiet.
Charlie turned the corner, then, halfway down the block he pulled into the alley behind FOB Pawn. Al’s sporty little Honda sedan was sitting there in a slot beside the loading dock, apparently untouched.
As they climbed out of the low-slung Dodge, Al thumbed a key fob, unlocking his car door. “Charlie, will you give me a call tomorrow on this Lola
Tso? I’ll be checking with the team, but maybe you’ll have something extra I can use.”
“Sure, Al. Watch your back around these people,” Charlie added.
Al nodded to Gordon, who returned the gesture, then climbed into his vehicle as Charlie unlocked the rear entrance to the pawnshop.
Gordon stepped in first, flipped on the hall light, and quickly entered the alarm code on the pad a few feet away. “It smells beyond funky. Looks like we’ve got a lot to do before Nancy and Gina show up.”
* * *
Charlie and Gordon were rearranging the shelf displays containing the merchandise that had escaped damage, when Charlie’s cell phone started ringing.
He sat down the microwave oven he was holding and reached over to read the display. “The ladies are pulling into the alley.”
Gordon stepped back to look down the aisle. “Well, we’re ready to open tomorrow, at least. I’ll let them in.”
Seconds later, Gina Sinclair, a tiny, delicately featured woman with short brown hair came into the back hall, wearing jeans and a fleece pullover. She was accompanied by Sergeant Nancy Medina, a slender, five-foot-nine blonde still in her dark blue APD uniform.
Gina rushed over and gave Charlie a bear hug, followed by a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re not hurt, Charles, and you too, Gordon. Nancy showed me the video of what happened in the shop on the way over here. It all went down so quickly.”
Charlie looked over at Nancy, who gave him a sheepish expression. “DuPree e-mailed the video to me after he found out I knew Lola Tso,” she said.
“That’s what Gina mentioned earlier. What can you tell us about her?”
“I’ll give you what I can, then you and Gordon fill me in on the details of what went down before and after the incident. Maybe you know something I can pass along to the unit working the case.”
“We’ve got chairs in the office and instant Starbucks Italian Roast—decaf if you want,” Gordon said, motioning toward the small office at the front end of the hall, past the door to the storage room. “Ladies.”
