by Aimée Thurlo
Once she finished and everything was placed back in its container, she looked at Nakai and shook her head. “Nothing, sorry. Part of the problem is that I still don’t have a strong enough feel for the victim—who she was, what she liked, what she didn’t and so on. She hadn’t lived long in that house we saw.”
“True,” Nakai said. “So let’s pay a visit to the victim’s father. She lived with him until recently, but her room may be nothing more than four blank walls now. Our Traditionalists have their own way of doing things, and something like a murder has complications the Anglo world can’t even begin to imagine.”
“You’re right. I don’t know nearly enough about your beliefs,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t show them the respect they deserve.”
Nakai gave her an approving nod.
“The victim’s father lives north of the highway past Rattlesnake, west of Shiprock Wash. I’ll lead you there,” Nakai told Travis, then looked back at Laura. “Just keep in mind that I’m not sure how we’ll be greeted. Traditionalists don’t like being around someone who may have been in contact with the dead. I’m told that the old man is particularly afraid of the chindi. He even tore a hole through the north wall of his daughter’s rental house to make sure her chindi got out.”
“I understand,” Laura said.
“There’s a dirt road just west of the Shiprock Wash, isn’t there?” Travis asked.
Nakai nodded. “Make sure you take the first road. There’s another turnoff a little farther down that’ll lead you to the river.”
Soon they were under way. As the miles stretched out, Laura leaned back and stared ahead. “No matter what culture you come from, murders can be devastatingly hard on those left behind,” she said in a whisper. “All death ever does is take away hope and create pain. So much for harmony, huh?”
“No, harmony remains,” he replied, shaking his head. “Death is a part of life. We have a story that helps explain why it’s not the enemy it seems to be.”
“I’d like to hear it,” she said.
He nodded, then began. “The Hero Twins of old were warriors known for their courage. One day they set out to conquer the greatest evils in the world,” he said, his voice strong and clear, revealing his faith in the culture that had sustained the Diné through time.
“They faced many challenges along the way, but the worst came last. At the end of their journey, the Hero Twins came across the most fearsome of all of mankind’s enemies—death. She was an old woman, frightening to look at. The Hero Twins wanted to eliminate her immediately, but she warned them that if they destroyed her, there would be no harmony. The old would never give up their places to the young and nothing would ever be renewed. She insisted that they needed her, and though it might not seem so at first glance, she was their friend. The Heroes saw wisdom in letting her live, and that’s why we still have death.”
She nodded slowly, understanding the lesson there. “Navajo ways give you something to hold on to, particularly when everything around you goes crazy.”
“When I was growing up, our traditions were my lifeline—the one thing, besides my brother, I knew wouldn’t let me down.”
“I searched for my own lifeline back then, too. Though I came across as strong, that was mostly bluff. It wasn’t until much later that I realized the strength I’d been looking for had been there within me all along. Walking your talk is one of the most difficult things to learn.”
“But once learned, it’s priceless.”
“Like our friendship,” she answered with a gentle smile.
Travis reached for her hand and held it. No words were spoken, but none were needed.
They soon passed through the tiny settlement of Rattlesnake, southwest of Shiprock. A few miles farther, they left Highway 64, and followed Nakai’s white SUV up a dirt road alongside an arroyo. A few cattle could be seen grazing on the meager fodder.
“This is a long way from the high school,” Laura said. “Now I know why Coach wanted to move.”
Before he could answer, he heard Nakai’s voice come over the unit-to-unit channel. “He lives up ahead about a quarter mile,” he said. “I can see his old pickup, so he’s probably at home.”
“Got it. Pickup, trailer and hogan in the rear,” Travis replied, looking ahead.
“Park by the trailer,” Nakai said. “I can see the flicker of a TV going inside.”
“TV?” she asked, surprised, as Travis racked the mike.
“He’s a Traditionalist, but living in a manufactured house, driving a pickup and having a TV doesn’t mean he can’t honor who he is,” Travis said.
Nakai and Travis both parked within easy view of the front windows of the trailer on either side of an old orange pickup.
“Maybe he didn’t see us,” she said. “Honk.”
“No. And we can’t go up either. We’ll just wait,” Travis said.
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes,” he answered. “And when he comes to meet us, don’t offer to shake hands.”
“Touching between strangers…is discouraged,” she said with a nod, remembering.
It turned out to be a full twenty minutes before an elderly man opened the door of the trailer and waved at them.
“Now we can go up,” Travis said. Crusher got out, too, but Travis gave him the command to remain by the car.
They went up to the trailer door. Without using proper names, Nakai identified himself. He then introduced Travis and Laura as a neighboring police-department detective and civilian crime investigator.
“Uncle, we need to take a look at your daughter’s things, the ones that were in her house,” Travis said. The title was a traditional sign of respect. They weren’t related.
“I don’t have them anymore. I had some Anglo church people pick up everything that belonged to her and told them they could keep it all,” he said, “but they decided to bring back a few of her personal things. They said I might want some ‘keepsakes.’ I gave them an old pillowcase and told them to put whatever they’d brought in there and asked them to leave it outside the door. After they were gone, I got rid of it.”
Nakai glanced around. “Where?”
“All the things her chindi might be attracted to are far away now, out of sight. I took the pillowcase out into the desert and left it there for the wind, rain, sun and mother earth. It’s not safe to be around things like that.”
Respectfully avoiding looking directly at the old man, Laura spoke softly. “Sir, all we need is for you to tell us where you took them. You don’t need to be involved after that. Won’t you help us?”
“We have what we need to protect ourselves, and her, too,” Travis added, gesturing to Laura.
The old man fingered the pouch at his belt. “I know the Sings that can make such things safe, but sometimes it’s better to just walk away,” he whispered.
“Are you a hataalii?” Travis asked him. Usually only their medicine men knew such Sings.
Mr. Yazzie shook his head. “My father was one, and I learned from him.”
He stepped over to a narrow counter and moved a chipped white coffee mug from atop a utility-bill envelope. Removing the bill, he used a stub of a pencil to draw a map on the envelope.
“This is the way I traveled,” he said and gave it to Travis.
Laura glanced at the crude map. There was no way anyone would be able to follow that. To her surprise, Travis nodded and thanked him. The old man stepped back and closed the door.
Nakai, Travis and she walked back to the tribal vehicle.
“Why didn’t you press him for better directions?” Laura asked Travis.
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“Are you telling me that you understood his map? It’s nothing more than an arrow-shaped thing and a circled x.”
“I know where it is,” Travis answered, then pointed to the arrow shape. “Big Gap Reservoir.”
“The reservoir is arrow shaped,” Nakai said, looking at Laura.
“Since it’s a ways from here, do you want to go with us or just have us call and let you know what we found?” Travis asked.
Nakai considered it. “I have other cases I need to work on. You two go ahead. If you find something, let me know.”
As Nakai drove off, the old man came back outside. Standing on the steps of his trailer, he motioned them over. “The tribal officer won’t need these but you two might,” he said, handing Travis a flint-shaped arrowhead covered with soot. “This is ghost medicine. Keep it close, it’ll protect you.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Travis said, and slipped it into the deerskin pouch attached to his belt.
The man handed a second arrowhead to Laura. “You may not share our beliefs, but it can do nothing but help you.”
“Thank you. I’ll respect your gift and carry it with me,” she said.
The old man nodded and went back inside.
After carefully slipping the arrowhead into her inside jacket pocket, she followed Travis back to the car. Laura sat in the passenger’s seat and gazed at Ute Mountain, far to the north. As beautiful as the land was, the real beauty of the Rez went past what the eye could see. It was in the People, the Diné, whose traditions defined them.
Chapter Fifteen
“Tell me more about the arrowheads,” Laura said as they got under way. She took hers out and studied it more closely.
“They’re made out of flint. Navajo ways teach us that flint has power because of its hardness. The light it emits—you can see flashes of light reflecting off its shiny surface—is also said to scare evil spirits away.”
“It was a thoughtful and beautiful gift,” she said, wrapping it carefully in a tissue and placing it back in her pocket.
They headed east to Shiprock, then turned south toward Gallup. When they reached the turnoff and the sandstone walls of Cathedral Cliff stood behind them, they drove west down a dusty road.
Travis reached a fork in the road. As he drove over a low hill, Big Gap Reservoir appeared below them. Across the lake, on the south and east, were the steep slopes of the rocky formation, and in the center, a big gap—hence the name.
“It’s kind of lonely out here. And barren unless you count the rocks,” she said.
“The history of our people is carved into every canyon and bluff,” he said. “If you stay still and listen, you can almost hear the echo of a single heartbeat.”
“The desert has many heartbeats,” she said, trying to understand him.
He shook his head. “All life is connected. Everything needs something else to survive. Those separate heartbeats are united into one by life itself.”
“That sense of connection is what defines you,” she said. With a soft sigh, she continued, “I wish my life was as clearly laid out as yours.”
“Yours follows its own course, more so than you realize. Think about it. What guides you day to day?”
“I want to make a difference. My mother lived a life marked by dreams and days. I wanted something different for myself. I specialized in crimes against women so I could help the ones who, like my mom, didn’t know how to fight for themselves. Many of them have no way of crawling out of the holes life throws them into. I’ve walked down those roads and it’s hard to find your way through that darkness. I understand what it’s like to feel desperate and see no way out,” she said and took a shaky breath.
“What I do now changes lives, or at least equalizes the odds a bit. It gives victims, or if it’s too late for them, their families, a second chance. It’s through my work that I finally found myself. Helping the ones that life gave up on, that’s what takes me from day to day.”
“That sense of purpose is your guide,” he said, parking about fifty yards from the water.
“You’re right. I’m doing exactly the kind of work I was meant to do. If there is such a thing as destiny, this is mine,” she said, stepping out.
He reached for his hat and got out of the SUV, Crusher behind him. “Be careful out here,” he added glancing at Laura across the hood of the SUV.
“You mean because of the chindi?” she asked, her gaze sweeping the area. “There’s nothing else around.”
“Rattlesnakes will be hiding among the rocks and we’re going to have to climb up that north ridge.”
He saw her swallow hard.
“Just look before you step. Rattlers hide from the heat under the rocks during the day, and the sun is beating down right now.”
“I hate rattlers. Their poison won’t kill a healthy adult, but their bite can kill the surrounding tissue and then it’s a mess. I had a partner get bit out on Albuquerque’s west mesa and he nearly lost his foot.”
“Just remember that rattlesnakes have their place.”
“So do my bullets,” she muttered under her breath.
Travis had Crusher stay in the shade of the SUV and poured water into his bowl from a gallon jug. The dog drank eagerly, then wagged his tail and barked.
“Sorry, guy. This isn’t a good place to let you run around.”
The dog sighed loudly.
“We won’t be long,” Laura said, petting him.
They made their way toward the water, then, about a third of the way around, started to climb up the steep, rocky slope on the west side.
Travis stopped and pointed toward the top of the ridge. “There’s the pillowcase he told us about. Straight ahead, see it?” he said.
A moment later, he reached into a crevice and pulled out the threadbare burgundy pillowcase.
“Careful,” she said. “There’s a rodent hole at the bottom.” Looking to her right, she added, “He never mentioned it, but there’s also a plastic bag wedged between those rocks.”
“Go get it. It’s too close to this one to ignore.”
“Got it,” she said, pulling it out. Then she followed Travis back down.
“We’ll sort through the contents, then after we’re done we’ll put everything back where he left them,” Travis said.
“That’s a good idea. We should do all we can to respect his wishes.”
After finding a strip of flat, dry sand at the bottom, Travis whistled for Crusher, who came up and sat beside them while they worked.
“Let’s open the pillowcase first,” Travis said, pointing with his chin.
Although there was virtually no chance any of the items held trace evidence after being handled by so many people, she saw him put on his gloves before untying the cord at the top. Half of it was force of habit, she was sure. Yet the other was respect for his culture and the beliefs of the Diné.
Travis was a complex man and that was part of what drew her to him. Although eminently practical and logical, he also embraced concepts often dismissed by those outside the reservation borders. Harmony and walking in beauty were as much a part of who he was as the Stetson he wore to keep the sun out of his eyes.
As she watched him work, Travis pulled out a damaged throwaway cell phone from the pillowcase.
“It could have been damaged before the attack and discarded by the victim, but we should take that to Nakai anyway,” Laura said.
He set it aside, reached back into the pillowcase and pulled out a scarf that had been shredded by tiny teeth at the ends. That was undoubtedly the work of rodents searching for nesting material. After retrieving several other inconsequential items and finding nothing of interest, he placed everything back.
“The pillowcase’s contents were a waste of time. I doubt that phone’s going to provide us with anything new. It’s too badly damaged,” Travis said.
“Maybe we’ll have more luck with the plastic bag. I hope it’s not just somebody’s trash,” she said, moving toward it.
“That ended up almost at the same place?” Travis shook his head. “Not likely.”
Out of respect for him, Laura used latex gloves just as he’d done. There was no rope at the top, just a wire tie. “There’s a smiley face pasted on the top flap,” she said, as she crouched down to remove the tie.
&nb
sp; Crusher suddenly stood and whined.
“Don’t move,” Travis told Laura, his gaze quickly taking in the area around them. Seeing nothing, he looked back at the dog and followed his gaze.
“What’s up?” she said softly, automatically moving her hand toward her gun.
“Your gun won’t help you. Stay still.” Travis moved toward her, slipping his gloves off.
“It’s on my neck, right?” she whispered horrified, suddenly feeling something crawling there. “What is it? Scorpion? Spider? Centipede?” Her voice rose with each suggestion. “Hurry up!”
He reached over, then with a lightning-fast swipe of his hand, brushed something off her.
A black-widow spider landed on its back, revealing the red hourglass shape on its belly.
Crusher barked, but grew still, hearing Travis’s command.
Laura went to where the spider had landed, intending to squash it with her shoe, but Travis put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her back.
“There’s no reason to kill it,” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Those spiders are really nasty. They even kill their mates after breeding. That’s why they’re called black widows.”
“Even so, they have their place. By keeping insects in check, they help maintain the balance,” he said, holding her back until it scurried into a bush.
“The way I see it, the spider lost all its rights after it landed on me,” Laura grumbled. “It goes under the header, tough luck—I’m bigger and badder.”
He laughed. “Good thing you never met Spider Woman.”
“Who’s she?”
“She taught the Navajo people how to weave blankets,” he said, pulling the plastic bag over to a big rock and inspecting it carefully for any more creatures. “Long ago, at the time of the beginning, an Anasazi woman saw smoke coming from a hole in the ground,” he said in a faraway voice reminiscent of the storytellers of old. “Spider Woman was inside and invited the woman into her den. That night Spider Woman taught her how to weave. In return, she asked that a hole be left in the center of every blanket as a way of honoring her.
