by Aimée Thurlo
“Did you happen to find the two-foot chain and the padlock to the gate?” Jo asked.
“I didn’t, but I’ll keep looking.”
“What about the delivery I saw? Did you notice any mailers or shipping containers inside?” she asked, still troubled about the van.
“Not a one. I checked every room.”
“Is it possible his killer didn’t break in but, instead, snuck up on my boss and forced him to open the gate?” Jo said, searching for the answer.
“Maybe, but at this point, the evidence suggests it was suicide, so don’t jump to conclusions. Why don’t you and I go to the store and look around? If there was a delivery, maybe the merchandise or paperwork is in there. We can also check the front and rear entrances in case something was left outside.”
Jo led the way, noticing that Regina had caught up to Esther and Leigh Ann in the parking lot. All of them had been scheduled for the morning shift today. Focusing back on Detective Wells, Jo walked around to the trading post’s front entrance. Not finding any sign of a delivery, she punched in the entry code on the keypad on the top lock. Using her copy of the store key, she opened the sturdy original lock just below the electronic one.
“No one tampered with this door, from the looks of it,” Detective Wells said, studying it. “There are no marks that suggest someone tried to force their way in.”
“It would take a lot more than a kick to break this down,” Jo said. “This is an industrial-grade door set in a steel frame. The rear door at the top of the loading dock is exactly the same. There are bars on the windows, too, and they can only be opened using locks on the inside. To get into the trading post, you need both the key and keypad code. You can’t ram the doors with a vehicle either, not with those concrete parking barriers.”
Jo waited by the entrance while Wells turned on the lights and searched the storeroom, office, break room, and the main business area.
“Look around,” Wells told Jo, waving her forward. “Besides looking for parcels or shipping containers, see if any merchandise is missing. Check for your most expensive items, like jewelry or cameras. I assume that no cash is left in the registers at night?” Seeing Jo nod, she continued. “Try not to handle anything, at least not until after you’ve done a general survey.”
Jo pointed to an interior door in a short hallway. “I’ll check the safe and see if someone tampered with it.”
The safe appeared untouched, so Jo continued to search, even looking in the freezer and produce locker. Sorrow was eating away at her and demanded she find a reason for Tom’s death.
At long last, she came back to the front register, where the detective was waiting. “I don’t understand it,” Jo said. “There’s no sign of a delivery, and nothing seems to be missing or even out of place. Our high-ticket items, art sculptures, paintings, and Navajo jewelry, are behind locked glass cabinets, but no one’s touched them or tried to force the locks. Same with the cameras and electronics.”
Detective Wells nodded. “As I said—suicide. I know it’s hard to accept, particularly when it’s someone you know, but it happens,” she said.
“No, my boss was a fighter who faced trouble head-on. The Navajos called him Tséłgaii, ‘the white rock.’”
“Earlier, you suggested that something was bothering him. What kind of problems did he have, business and/or personal?” the detective asked, bringing out a small notebook and pen.
“Business has taken a hit because of the recession, but no one’s been laid off. I know he’s been worried about something, but I have no idea what the problem was.”
“Maybe whatever was worrying him became too much for him to handle. These things happen even to the strongest among us,” Wells said, reaching for a small tube of white tablets and taking two more.
“How many of those do you take?” Jo asked.
“Too many. Acid stomach—comes with the territory.”
“How about herbal tea?”
“Puts me to sleep. Coffee is my lifeline.”
“Detective Wells, do you think the driver of the white van saw something?”
“Probably not. My guess is that when nobody answered the door, he took off.”
“Without leaving a note or a package?”
“Maybe it was fresh food. You can’t leave something like that on the loading dock or front porch.”
“All right. I’ll check our records and also ask the others if they knew about a delivery scheduled for this morning,” Jo said.
“Do that and let me know what they say.” The detective gave Jo a sympathetic smile, then headed back to Tom’s house.
Jo saw the trading post’s three morning employees standing together, waiting for her on the porch. As she tried to figure out what she’d say to them, she remembered the horrific scene in Tom’s study.
She’d missed something, and the realization rocked her to the core. “Detective Wells,” Jo called out, jogging down the steps and into the parking lot. “Wait! The gun was by his right hand, but my boss is left-handed. It couldn’t have been suicide.”
TWO
Jo saw the surprised look on Detective Wells’s face as she stood in front of the officer. “I’m right. Ask around,” Jo insisted.
“Maybe he was ambidextrous?”
“No. I’ve known the man for over a decade, and I’ve worked for him almost daily for the past seven years. He was left-handed. There’s something else you should know,” she said, her thoughts clearer now. “He wouldn’t have killed himself now. He was really looking forward to seeing his son. That’s practically all he talked about lately.”
“Okay, then. We’ll take a closer look at the evidence—and follow up on that white van.” Wells saw one of the crime scene techs coming out of the house and hurried over to meet him. “Did you find a note anywhere?” she asked him.
“No, but that’s not conclusive, you know that. The OMI will have the final say, but even without a note, it sure looks like suicide to me.”
“According to Ms. Buck, the vic was left-handed, and unless his right hand was injured, it’s doubtful he would have used his weak hand to pull the trigger. That means there’s a possibility the scene was staged and we’re looking at a possible 187. Go back inside and recheck everything with that possibility in mind. And see if you can find any sign of a chain and padlock on the property or nearby. There was supposed to be one on the gate. If the chain or lock were cut…”
Though she continued to listen, Jo tore her gaze from Tom’s house and focused on the sacred mountains off in the distance. They were said to be the forked hogans of the gods, and in them resided the strength and power of the Diné.
With renewed energy, she pushed back the darkness that had weighed down her spirit. Suicide was no longer a possibility she needed to either fear or dread. Yet if Tom was murdered, the killer had been here last night. What if he came back? Should she be worried? And what about that white van?
When Jo turned back to the woman detective, the officer was looking directly at her. No … looking through her was a more accurate description.
Uncomfortable, Jo turned her head and saw Leigh Ann Vance standing off to the side. The tall, leggy, blond ex-cheerleader was wearing a white blouse and turquoise skirt. She was a West Texas native from Amarillo and had worked their front register for almost a year now. Leigh Ann, in her mid-thirties, was always flawlessly made up, with her hair sprayed into immobility.
Directly to her right stood Esther Allison in her flowery, long burgundy dress. The short, bony seventy-something Navajo woman was a Modernist and a Christian, like Regina. She was clutching her ever-present Bible to her chest. Actually, she appeared to be holding on to it for dear life.
“If you need to question all of us, please start with Esther, the lady in the burgundy dress, then let her go home. A shock like this could be hard on someone her age,” Jo said.
Wells nodded, and glanced around for someplace suitable to conduct the interviews. “Open up the trading post for me agai
n. I’ll use one of the back rooms to interview each of them in private.” She glanced at the group. “Is that everyone who works here?”
“No. Del Hudson, our stock boy, is in class right now—Kirtland Central High School. He won’t arrive till school is out this afternoon.”
“All right, then. Let’s get started,” Wells said.
* * *
As Esther Allison entered what had been Tom Stuart’s office, Detective Wells introduced herself. As a detective, she’d learned to always talk about something ordinary and nonintrusive at first. It helped put people at ease.
“This is terrible business, just terrible,” Esther said immediately, getting straight to the point. “I heard someone say it was suicide. Is that right?”
“That was our first impression,” Katie said, “but there’s also evidence that suggests it could have been a homicide.”
“Tom Stuart, murdered?” she whispered, her eyes wide with shock.
“How long have you been working here, Esther?”
“A little over two years now. This job’s been a huge blessing to me and my husband. It’s hard for someone my age to find work where you actually get a decent paycheck. I’m not full-time, but almost.”
“Would you say that you knew Tom Stuart well?”
“Not personally, no. He was a good man and an excellent boss. But we didn’t socialize. I was just one of the staff. I work in the housewares and fabric section and fill in elsewhere, if needed. Whenever he and I spoke, it was usually about business.”
“Did Mr. Stuart seem worried or upset lately?” Katie watched her eyes, and even listened to her breathing.
“He seemed a bit more impatient, but I assumed it was because his son was coming home and he had a lot on his mind. If you ask me, Tséłgaii was just plain excited.”
“Tom Stuart’s nickname,” Katie said, nodding.
“I’m Christian,” Esther said, “so I believe in souls, not the chindi, but it still feels wrong to call him by name, at least here at the trading post. It makes our Navajo brothers and sisters uneasy.”
“So I’ve heard,” Katie said with a nod. Esther was as sharp as a tack and diplomatic. She was easy to interview, too, because she was straightforward. “I’d like your professional opinion on the way business was going here at The Outpost. How much has the recession affected sales and the trading post’s bottom line?”
“I’m not the bookkeeper, but it’s no secret that most retail businesses have seen less traffic these past two years,” Esther said. “We’ve all had our hours cut from thirty-eight to thirty-five, and two of the former employees had to find full-time jobs elsewhere since the recession kicked in. But I’m sure sales will pick up before long. Things go up and down all the time. It’s all part of life—cycles, you know.”
“Were any of the current employees afraid of losing their jobs because of the economy?” Katie asked.
“If they were, killing their boss would have only guaranteed their unemployment,” Esther said. “In fact, with him gone, we all may end up looking for new jobs.”
Katie watched her for a moment. At first glance, Esther appeared to be a frail senior, but Katie sensed the core of steel just beneath the surface. Instinct told her the woman had gone through some tough times in her life. “Can you think of any reason why anyone might have wanted your former boss dead—maybe another employee, a business contact, or even a customer? Take your time.”
“Don’t need to, the answer is no. That’s even more so when it comes to my fellow workers. Most of us here at The Outpost really need the money. Our salaries pay for food, schooling, and other necessities.”
“You’re speaking for yourself as well?”
“Yes, absolutely. My work also gives me a reason to get up every morning and keeps me active and useful. One of my jobs is to make display garments using our fabric and patterns. When people see how pretty the finished product is, that gives them more of a reason to buy. Once a month, I change all the displays and the garments I made go to my church, where they’re given to families in need. It all works together for a common good and gives me a wonderful sense of purpose,” Esther said. After a beat, she continued. “That’s what makes The Outpost so special. We each bring something unique to it.”
“Someone wanted your boss dead. Can you think of any reason for that?” Katie pushed once again.
Esther considered it for several moments before replying. “People are always more complicated than they appear to be. I knew only one side of my boss, but maybe the others will have more to say.”
Katie nodded. “A white van, maybe a delivery vehicle, was seen exiting the grounds earlier this morning. Do you know anything about that?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. Mr. Stuart and Jo kept track of shipping and deliveries. You might want to ask her,” Esther said. “Anything else?”
“No, we’re done for now, but I may want to talk to you again later,” she said. “Do you have any questions?”
“Yes, I do,” Esther said. “If it turns out that our boss was murdered, does that mean the rest of us are in danger now? Is it safe here at The Outpost?”
“I don’t know of any connection between Mr. Stuart’s death and The Outpost, Mrs. Allison, but until we have all the answers, it might be wise to remain extra careful for a while.”
Esther nodded. “All right. And if you think there is a threat to the employees—”
“I’ll let everyone know right away,” Katie said.
As Esther left, Katie made some quick notes, then stared vacantly across the room, lost in thought. Esther appeared to be a religious woman who lived by certain principles. She, too, was that way once, but over the years, her religious beliefs had fallen by the wayside, and her principles had become more … adaptable to the situation.
Katie stared at the badge clipped to her belt. Esther was right about one thing: No one was ever what they appeared to be.
Katie felt her cell phone vibrate and lifted it from her belt. The display showed the caller’s name was blocked. Already knowing who it was, Katie brought the phone to her ear.
“Make this a private call,” a familiar male voice ordered.
Roberto Hidalgo, the biggest drug dealer in the Four Corners, was used to giving orders and having them followed, but that wasn’t why she hated him so much. Katie felt her stomach tighten.
“I’ll be a few minutes,” she told the store employees waiting their turn, then closed the door.
“Now what?” she snapped. “I’m at a crime scene.”
“I know, that’s why I’m calling. Listen up. The store owner died by his own hand. That’s what you’ll say in your report. Understand?”
Katie’s stomach lurched, and not just because it was clear someone had followed her here this morning. “That’s going to be a tough sale. Not all the facts fit.”
“Then change the facts or do what’s necessary to make this blow over quickly. If my name comes up, so will yours—and your son’s. ¿Me comprendes, mujer?”
She was trapped—again—and her stomach hurt. “The Office of the Medical Investigator determines the cause of death, but I’ll do what I can,” she said, deciding not to ask if his men had been in the white van. Anything she might be able to eventually use against him was best kept secret.
“Make it happen. Don’t disappoint me,” Roberto said, ending the call.
Katie put the phone away, took a deep breath and another antacid, then opened the door and signaled the next person to enter. It was going to be a very long morning.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Leigh Ann Vance stood in a corner of the store talking to Regina Yazzie. “What did she ask you?” Leigh Ann whispered.
“She knew that Tom had been upset lately and wanted me to tell her why. She also wanted to know how well I knew him, and like that.” Regina glanced around the room. “Apparently a van was here just before Jo arrived, and the driver might have seen something. Or maybe he was the one who killed our b
oss. Nobody knows, and that’s part of the problem. I’m so scared right now, Leigh Ann, and it’s not that I’m afraid of getting shot. This job is what’s buying our groceries. Pete hasn’t had a good construction job in months. He’s been hired for day jobs here and there, but my paycheck’s the only regular money we’ve got coming in. I don’t know what’ll happen to us if this place shuts down.”
“I hear you,” Leigh Ann said. “I’ve been working hard, too, hoping Tom would hire me full-time. Now this happens.”
“At least you don’t have kids,” Regina said.
“I also don’t have a husband or family I can count on. When Kurt died, all he left me was bills. I’ve already sold everything I can except the house. If I lose this job, I’ll be out on the street,” she said, her drawl somewhat softening the fear in her voice.
Regina gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve been through a lot.”
“Kurt never took out a life insurance policy, and that’s made things hard.” Leigh Ann ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blond hair, pushing it away from her face. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do if this place closes down. I have no real job training except with that cash register.”
“You’re tall, beautiful, and still young enough to attract any man. That’ll get you in the door almost anywhere.”
Leigh Ann smiled bitterly. “Thank you, hon, but my looks will never get me the kind of job I need—or could live with.”
“You know the boss’s son is going to inherit the trading post. If he doesn’t sell it, maybe he’ll hire someone to run it for him and we can keep our jobs,” Regina said.
As Detective Wells came out of the office, Jo alongside her, Leigh Ann and Regina turned away and pretended to be busy.
Leigh Ann glanced back furtively at Detective Wells and saw the deep lines of weariness etched on her face. That all but assured her that even tougher times lay ahead.
* * *
Jo watched the detective work with the crime scene people inside the yellow tape line surrounding Tom’s home. Knowing that there was nothing more she could do out here, Jo went back inside the trading post. The second she stepped through the door, all eyes turned to her.
