The eerily white interior of the temple was supposed to give the impression of purity, Abe figured. But to him, it conveyed defilement, lecherousness, exploitation—the residence of evil. In Abe’s mind, the long table in the center of the room covered with satin cushions took the form of a bed where the Prophet seduced young girls. A white satin couch surrounded by a circle of chairs provided furniture for a side room. There were numerous doors—more side rooms. Abe felt his stomach turn while searching the sanctimonious chambers and dwelling of a monster who had the gall to call himself a prophet. Still, no matter how thoroughly the men searched, nothing came up that might implicate anyone in a criminal act. In fact, the room, furnishings, doorknobs, all appeared sterile—as if recently wiped clean. The sanitized room and the fact there was no telephone, computer, or files was enough of an anomaly to arouse suspicion.
The sheriff stood in the center of the opulent office space, frowning. “Where’s all the paperwork pertaining to the business of running this place, Henrikson?”
The man shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You are in a house of worship, not a business office.”
Sheriff Turnbull narrowed his eyes and exhaled a whoosh of air. “I don’t believe you. I’m holding you in temporary custody for obstruction of justice. But right now, you are going to give me the keys to unlock each and every building, gate, and vehicle in this damn place. And don’t try telling me you don’t have the keys. I see a big ring hanging on your belt loop.” Finished with the cult member, he faced the posse. “Men, I want four of you to stay here and go through this church with a fine-toothed comb. Wear gloves, and if you see anything even remotely suspicious, bag it. Be especially thorough in the living quarters and office. Okay—Jim, take three men and turn this place upside down,” he said to his deputy. Turning to another one of his men, the sheriff said, “Radio Cortez and see if they came up with a flight plan on that plane. Let me know if you discover anything that might give us a clue as to where he’s headed. The rest of you, including this here prisoner,” he said, slapping a pair of handcuffs on the secretary, “come with me.”
Abe and Will joined four other men and followed the sheriff down a hedge-lined sidewalk. “What’s behind this locked gate and wall?” the sheriff asked, tilting his head toward the women’s compound.
“It’s the women’s private quarters,” the secretary said. “We must respect their modesty and not disturb them.”
“Bullshit. Open the gate.”
Abe’s heart pounded, his stomach muscles tightened, and his breath quickened as he watched the metal gate swing open. The enclosed area was the place they had observed from the plane. It was where he felt confident they would find Emily and the two girls. He closed the distance between himself and the sheriff—Will and Hosteen beside him, the look in their eyes saying they knew it, too. They passed women tending garden patches, working the same as yesterday, long dresses dragging in the tilled earth, bonnets or hats shading their faces. Startled, the women raised their heads to stare, wide-eyed, at the men before quickly turning away. The men in the posse also stopped to gaze at the women, the Navajo men possibly wondering if their loved ones might be among them, hidden under one of the strange outfits. Abe stared, too, hoping one of the shapeless, pastel-clad figures might be her. “Emily!” he shouted, but the women kept their heads bowed—all but one with a tired face and sad, gray eyes.
She looked directly at Abe when he called Emily’s name and made a barely perceptible shake of her head before turning away.
“What is the meaning of this?” A large woman in a blue dress, her face florid with anger, stomped in heavy boots toward the posse. “Men are not allowed in here without permission.” She turned her glare to the secretary, ready to demand an explanation, but the sight of the Prophet’s private secretary shackled in handcuffs left her openmouthed and speechless.
“No reason to be alarmed, ma’am. I’ve got a warrant to search these premises,” the sheriff said, showing her his badge case and papers. “You can come along and cooperate, or you can get cuffed like your friend here for impeding a legal investigation of a crime. What’ll it be?”
The woman, her face blotched and even redder, stammered, “God will punish your wickedness.” She turned to walk toward a two-story building, the sheriff and posse members following right behind. “Whatever could you want here?”
“Joe,” Abe said to the Navajo cop, “I want to talk to one of those women before I go inside.”
“I doubt anyone will talk to you. They all look scared to death, and no doubt they believe it’s sinful to talk to strange men. I didn’t see any Navajo faces in the bunch. You have anyone particular in mind?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do,” said Abe, picturing the woman with gray eyes. “Tell the sheriff I’ll be in when I finish. I’ve got a hunch she knows something.”
Will had been studying the women working the plowed patch of ground as well. “I’m hanging here with Abe. We won’t take long.”
Hosteen looked at both Abe and Will and shrugged his shoulders. He must have recognized the doggedness in their faces. “I’ll let the sheriff know what you’re up to. Just don’t jeopardize any potential witness, Freeman.”
Abe nodded. “I understand—it’s just a feeling I have. The gray-eyed woman was the only one who actually looked at us, and I saw her shake her head.”
“I saw it when you called Emily’s name. She’s hiding something. Let’s see if we can find out what it is.”
“All these women look like they’re scared shitless.”
“Yep, partner. I can feel the evil in this place. If this woman knows something, maybe she’d like to get it off her chest.”
Abe surveyed the plot of cultivated land again, looking for the gray-eyed woman. It was hard to discern one from another because they all wore identical dresses and kept their eyes averted. He tried to remember some characteristic that made her stand out, other than her eyes. She was wearing a blue dress and a straw hat. “I think she’s the one,” he said to Will, indicating a figure lagging behind the others at the end of a row of new seedlings.
When Abe and Will approached the woman, she trembled—her wide-open eyes darting quickly from the house to the two men before she hid her face and began hacking wildly at the weeds growing alongside sprouts of corn.
“She’s scared all right,” Will said as they walked across the garden plot toward her.
“Excuse me, miss,” Abe said. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just want to ask a few questions.”
She shook her head and began attacking the weeds with a frenzy.
“Miss . . . ,” Will said, his voice soft and pleading, “the Navajo woman someone kidnapped and brought here is my sister, my only sibling. Our mother can’t sleep. All night she cries and prays for Emily’s safe return. We mean you no harm. Please tell us if you know anything about Emily Etcitty and the two young Navajo girls.”
The woman glanced around to see if anyone was watching. “I can’t talk to you,” she said without lifting her head, her voice barely above a whisper. But after a moment, she blurted, “She’s gone. I don’t know where she went. She left in the middle of the night. Please don’t tell the matron I said anything, or something bad will happen to me. I hope Emily’s all right. She said she would help set me free.”
Abe’s mouth dropped open, dumbfounded by the news, not sure he heard her right the first time. “Are you saying Emily was here, you talked to her, and she escaped?”
Will’s widened eyes showed his shock, and he looked at the woman with such intensity she began to tremble. “When did she leave?”
“Around midnight, when we were all asleep. I brought her clothes and some tools earlier in the evening. The matron discovered her missing this morning and sent word to the Prophet. There are two young Indian girls here as well, but I don’t know where they’re kept.” The other women had stopped hoeing and had turned to stare at her. She paled and cast her eyes down. “What’s
going to happen to me now? Please, you’ve got to get me out of here. I think they’ll have me stoned to death when they find out I helped Emily.”
Abe’s heart pounded like a metronome set at a fast tempo.
“Emily’s out there, somewhere,” Will said. “Why hasn’t she contacted us?”
Abe shook his head. “We need to tell Joe Hosteen and the sheriff about this and get a search party going. She may be hurt.”
23
Friday, April 13, 1990
Women’s Compound
Harmony Home Ranch
Come with us,” Abe said, taking the woman’s elbow. “No one’s going to harm you. You need to tell the sheriff what you know. We’ll get you out of here—take you with us when we leave. What’s your name?”
“Betty, Betty Prescott,” she said with more courage in her voice. “My husband and son were run off from here, and I was left behind—kept in this building and made to work all day. Just like most of the other women and girls. We all believed in the words of the Prophet at one time, but . . . he lied to us. All lies.”
Will ran up the steps leading into the house and shouted for the Navajo cop. “Hosteen! Joe Hosteen! Where the hell are you? Sheriff Turnbull, we’ve got someone out here with information about Emily and the girls.”
Upon hearing Will’s words, men began appearing from the open doors of the dormitory rooms. When Abe entered the house with Betty in tow, four Navajo and the sheriff met them in the foyer of the women’s compound.
“What’s this about?” said the sheriff.
Abe spoke first. “Sheriff, this is Betty Prescott. She can vouch for the fact Emily and the two girls were here.” Abe looked at the expectant faces of the girls’ fathers. “Mr. Benally, Mr. Nez, we may be getting close. This woman helped Emily escape from this house last night. You better talk to her, Sheriff. I’m going to start looking for Emily.”
“Yes, the Indian lady was locked right in there,” Betty said, pointing to a door at the end of the hall that had not yet been opened. “I snuck her a screwdriver and wire cutters, some of my son’s clothes.”
Looking at Abe, the sheriff said, “You just hold on, young man. You’re durn right I’m going to talk to her, but don’t you try going off half-cocked when you don’t have any idea where to look or what to do. You’re still my sworn deputy, and we haven’t finished our work here.”
Turning his attention to Betty, he added, “I want you to start from the beginning, and tell me exactly what you know about Miz Etcitty and the two Navajo girls, Miz Prescott. We’ll go in one of these rooms so we can talk in private. Hosteen, you come in here with the lady and me. The rest of you men keep searching this place from top to bottom. I’m interested in the room where they kept Emily Etcitty. Look it over real good. Just make sure you don’t leave prints. And you can cuff the lying son-of-a-bitch secretary and his so-called matron in charge to a pole or something, just as long as they can’t go anywhere. They’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Hosteen punched numbers on his handheld radio. After he had signed off, he spoke to the sheriff. “I informed my boss that Emily and the girls’ presence at Harmony Home Ranch has been confirmed by an eyewitness. He’s sending more men to assist in the search. The state troopers have a helicopter available. I suggest you call them, Sheriff, and for any other assistance you can get since we’re in your jurisdiction.”
“I’ll make the call, Hosteen. Just as soon as I finish this interview.”
“That’s my sister out there,” Will said to the sheriff. “I want to find her.”
“I know you do,” the sheriff said. “I don’t blame you, and these men want to find their little girls. Come in here with Hosteen and me while we talk to this lady. I don’t want you and your friend taking off on your own, hear?” he said, looking directly at Abe. “These are the keys to all the rooms,” he said, tossing the ring to Abe. “Open them up, and you men get to work.”
Will, though he appeared agitated and ready to bolt out the door, followed Hosteen into the room where the sheriff waited with Betty Prescott. Abe caught the ring of keys. They all looked the same. He spent some time going from room to room, opening doors, trying all the keys until he found the ones that sprung the locks. He saved Emily’s room for himself and chewed a thumbnail while staring at the key ring and the lock on the door. After a few unsuccessful attempts, a key slid in smooth as silk, and the lock popped open. As soon as he stepped inside, Abe sensed Emily’s presence. He slipped the disposable gloves on and picked up the odd pink dress thrown across the made bed. He held it up to his face, taking in the faint aroma of rain-washed sagebrush she always carried. He saw clean sheets and towels where Betty had left them. The small table had no drawers—nowhere to stash personal belongings. He looked under the bed. Nothing. When Abe walked into the bathroom, his pulse quickened. The window had been hastily repaired but still showed signs of damage around the frame where she must have pried it away.
So this is how you escaped, sweetheart. If only you had waited a few hours, I would have found you.
He sat on the edge of the bed, covering his eyes with a hand, overwhelmed by a feeling of emptiness, a heavy stone weighing on his heart.
We were so close.
After a few minutes, he put the pink dress back and left her toothbrush, soap, and comb—with a few of her black hairs still entangled in the bristles—where he had found them.
Abe made a list of everything in the room, then left. He knew the forensic team would be there soon to collect and analyze all the evidence. As soon as he stepped out, he heard shouting in the hall and the scream of a hysterical woman.
The fathers of the two Navajo girls hovered around the matron, demanding to know where their daughters were. Darcy’s father held the woman’s head back by her hair, and Charley had his skinning knife pointed at her throat. “Where are our daughters, you piece of white trash? My girl is sick. Tell me now, or I will remove your ugly hair quicker than I can skin a rabbit,” Charley said.
Abe hurried toward the melee, reaching the woman seconds before the other posse members. “Put down the knife, Charley. This isn’t going to help.”
“She knows where they are. Lina could die. She needs her shots.”
“We’ll find them,” Abe said. “We’re getting close. Lina’s counting on you to rescue her. She won’t want you to go to jail. Give me the knife, man.”
The other two Navajo men pulled Henry Benally away to a corner and spoke to him in Navajo. Benally held his head in his hands, looking at the floor. Stress had brought the Navajo fathers to the breaking point.
Abe held out his hand, and Charley Nez gave him the knife just before the sheriff and Will burst into the foyer.
“What the hell’s going on out here?”
The woman, pale and shaken, opened her mouth to speak, but Abe gave her a menacing look and hissed, “Shut up.” Charley Nez stared at the floorboards.
“Is anybody going to answer me?” The sheriff looked from one face to another, staring intently at the woman, whose own face had turned white as a sheet. No one uttered a word until Abe spoke up.
“It’s nothing—a little argument. They worked it out.”
“That woman knows more than she’s telling,” said Charley Nez.
“If she does, we’ll get it out of her. Now get back to work.” The sheriff narrowed his eyes and shook his head while he waited for an explanation from Abe.
“I found a dress and toothbrush in the room where we think they kept Emily,” Abe said, changing the subject. “Marks along the edge of the window frame appear to have been made recently. Emily must have used the screwdriver Betty gave her to pry the window off.”
Sheriff Turnbull nodded, inhaled deeply, and slowly blew air out of his mouth. “We’re doin’ the best we can to find your daughter, Mr. Nez.” He scowled at the faces of his posse. “Did anyone else find anything useful?”
The men, silent and looking glum, shook their heads.
The sheriff rub
bed the back of his neck, frustration showing in the drawn lines around his eyes and mouth. He sighed. “I hate to admit it, but this case is bigger than my department can handle. We’ve got possible rampant sex abuse, a kidnapping, fugitive flight, and who the hell knows what else. I’m calling for assistance from the state. The Navajo Tribal Police Department is sending as many extra men and equipment as they can spare as well. I don’t like involving the Feds. Those assholes want to take charge, and they treat the locals like we’re a bunch of country bumpkins who can’t find our butts when they need wipin’. But now we have proof the perps took hostages across state lines, and that makes it a federal case. Also, we’ve got too much ground to cover and too little time. Finding those young girls and Officer Etcitty is our top priority.”
The men perked up upon hearing the sheriff’s words. This was what they wanted, to be actively searching for their loved ones. The tedious task of combing through buildings had led to growing tension, especially for Abe and the Navajo men.
“What do you want us to do now, Sheriff?” Abe said.
“Keep doing what you’re doing until backup arrives. Tear this place apart, but follow procedure. Write it down, but don’t disturb the evidence.” He paused before adding, “Any hotheads who get out of line are going to be sent home for insubordination and not allowed in my county. Understood?” The sheriff turned his gaze on the Navajo men, who stared fixedly at the floor and nodded their agreement. “Freeman, I told Betty to wait in her room till we were ready to take her with us. She’s a material witness. Make sure that no one bothers her and that she doesn’t decide to leave. Lock the door.”
24
Friday, April 13, 1990
Women’s Compound
Harmony Home Ranch
While Abe and the rest of the posse continued scouring the women’s room for evidence, five cars with the emblem of the Colorado State Patrol arrived on the scene. They were followed shortly afterward by four green-and-white Navajo Nation Police SUVs and a state forensic unit. A member of the K-9 Unit had accompanied the Colorado officers, bringing with him a large mixed-breed hound called Spike who answered to no one but his trainer. Abe recognized the trooper who had pulled him over and then led him to the courthouse, and he nodded in greeting. Sheriff Turnbull and Hosteen met with the new arrivals for a quick debriefing.
Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty) Page 16
