“So much of that depends on the minister and the community, Ella. Your father’s church, for example, is very conservative—old-school Bible Belt—scaring Navajos with retribution and damnation—hoping to save their souls that way. We, on the other hand, look to God as our loving parent, our salvation, too, but we offer hope of heaven, instead of fear of hell.”
“That different, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.” He gave her a long look. “So tell me, are you any closer to finding the killer?”
“It’s my job. I’ll find him,” she said, not answering him directly.
“This crime practically landed on your back door. That must make it even tougher for you,” he said gently.
She nodded. “But, to be honest, I’m always in crisis mode when I’m working. Crime on the Rez is a fact of life, but it needs to be brought under control. All things are interconnected, and everything affects something else. Evil, under control, ceases to be a threat and that’s why law enforcement is so important to the big picture. That’s really what my job’s all about.”
“Do you think you’re becoming a New Traditionalist?” Ford asked. “Accepting the new world but wrapping it as much as possible in the old values and traditions?”
“No, not strictly speaking. I’ll never walk a simple road, or one that neatly fits any label. But I’ve made my peace with that. The contradictions are all a part of who I am.”
“We have two very different jobs, Ella, but what we try to accomplish is remarkably similar. You find order and grounding through law enforcement. I find it through my faith and my love for God. I’d be just as lost without my work as you’d be without yours.”
“Order…and faith. Do you think there’s really common ground there?” Ella asked.
“Yes, I do. Faith brings order…and a need for order is one of the many paths leading to faith.”
“I may not agree completely with you, Reverend, but I still like the way you think,” Ella answered, enjoying his gentle smile.
Ella drove west down the hill and across the mesa to Blalock’s office. The agent was on the phone as she walked in. He waved her to a seat and, a moment later, hung up. “I’ve got some interesting news for you, Ella. The quote left at our crime scene not only matches the one found in L.A. fourteen years ago, it’s also identical to one left at a crime scene in Kayenta, Arizona. That murder took place only a year ago.”
“Three murders, one unique verse of Scripture. That’s no coincidence. Is there any thread that connects all three victims?” Ella asked quickly, hoping they hadn’t been randomly selected.
“They were all Navajo,” Blalock said.
“Were they all Christian churchgoers?” Ella asked, playing a hunch. “And did they all live around here at one time?”
“It doesn’t say,” Blalock said.
“Then that’s the next thing we follow up on,” she said. “Maybe all three were members of one of the churches here,” she said, thinking of Valerie. “The church where Ford works was established less than ten years ago, so I don’t think his membership roster will be of any immediate help. His congregation probably consists of new converts and people who used to attend elsewhere. But my father’s church has been around for thirty or more years. And there are others as well,” she added.
“We need to start checking those places out.”
“It’ll probably be easier to take a different route first. The churches will probably not want to give us access to their membership lists. And, even if they did, they probably have regulars who’ve never become official members. I suggest we start by digging into the victims backgrounds and find out if they had a church in common. After that, we’ll have a better idea how to proceed.”
“Sounds good, but how do we do that?”
“We start with Jayne, Justine’s sister. The woman has a phenomenal memory, and knows just about everyone in the Shiprock area. Are you game?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
“Brewster has to remain at the top of our list,” Ella said as they went out to the parking lot. “But he doesn’t attend church anymore and doesn’t really fit the MO of a serial killer inclined to leave Bible passages behind. We’ve also yet to place him in two different states at the right times, or find a link between him and the other victims.”
“The case is young yet,” Blalock muttered.
They left in Ella’s borrowed, marked car, knowing that it would give them an edge when they approached people on the Rez. Blalock’s Bureau car was well known and Navajos tended to avoid him.
Ella tracked down Jayne via Justine and, shortly afterward, met with her partner’s older sister at her workplace, the new motel just inside the Rez borders. Jayne, vivacious and charming as always, was working the front desk. Seeing Ella, she waved and called out from behind the counter.
“I need to talk to you,” Ella said, going over to meet her. “Can you leave the front desk for a minute?”
“Sure. I’ve been expecting you. ’Tine called a little while ago.” Jayne checked her watch. “It’s close to lunch. Are you guys hungry?”
Ella glanced at Blalock, who nodded. “Yeah, but we really don’t have time for a sit-down lunch right now.” She looked toward the motel’s restaurant dining room just beyond a wide, open doorway. The tables were about half occupied at the moment with tourists, judging from the fact that the majority appeared to be Anglos with cameras.
“Not a problem. I like to eat with the kitchen staff anyway, so let’s go find the chef. His specialty is Navajo tacos, and he can put yours in Styrofoam takeout containers.”
The thought of Navajo tacos was too much of a temptation on an empty stomach. Ella glanced at Blalock, who was almost pleading with his eyes. “You’ve got a deal.”
Jayne led them though an employees-only door and seated them on folding metal chairs at a stainless-steel table in the kitchen. Beside them was a tall Rube Goldberg–type mixer that looked more like a post hole digger in a bowl. Within five minutes Jayne returned with three big Styrofoam containers and three sets of silverware wrapped in cloth napkins.
Inside each was a dinner plate–size piece of fry bread topped with a layer of pinto beans, lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, and salsa. “This looks great,” Ella said taking a bite. “My fry bread always comes out looking like fried matzo. Just can’t seem to get it to swell up like this.”
Blalock nodded, his mouth full. “Clah, you gotta roll out the dough real thin, then make sure the oil is good and hot.”
“You cook, Dwayne?” Ella said, moving a loaded fork to her lips.”
“Live alone, love to eat. What can I say? But this food is way better than anything I can whip up,” Blalock added.
The three ate for a few minutes, then Ella took the page containing the names of the three victims out of her pocket and slid it across the small table so Jayne could read it. “Sorry to get back to business, but do you happen to know any of these people?”
Jayne studied it for a moment as she ate. “Valerie, naturally. And I remember Dorothy Yabeny. Wait, are these other two women dead, too?”
Ella nodded. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, I’m no traditionalist, so as long as none of the staff hear us, I don’t mind. About Dorothy. She’s…would have been about your age, Ella, give or take a year, but she went to Mission, not Shiprock High, because her mother wanted her to have a Christian education. They lived about halfway to Hogback. I lost a boyfriend to her the summer of our junior year. Wanted to scratch her eyes out for a few weeks, but we made up. Then Dorothy moved to Kayenta a few years out of high school and I never heard from her after that. Phyllis Begay was three years older than me, but we hung out sometimes and were friends until she moved to L.A. She wanted to be an actress. We exchanged a few letters at first because she was homesick, but then we lost track of each other. That was fourteen or fifteen years ago, at least.”
“Did she go to one of the local churches?” Ella asked.
“She went to church, but it wa
s mostly for the social part of it. That way she could go out on Sundays and Wednesday nights even when she was grounded. She met a lot of boys that way, too, when churches from different towns had special youth rallies and retreats. Phyllis and I did some wild things together, I remember.” Jayne laughed. “Her mother was different though, really devout. She’s buried in the church’s cemetery. I remember going to her house. There were so many crucifixes in there it was spooky,” she said and shuddered.
Ella understood. Even modernists weren’t immune to the teachings they’d lived with all their lives. Navajo beliefs held that death was a subject best avoided. To have something inside a home that depicted a death, showed the body, and commemorated someone who’d risen from the dead seemed just plain dangerous.
“Do you remember which church they belonged to?”
Jayne looked at her in surprise. “Your father’s, of course, the Divine Word. I guess you don’t remember because you stopped going when you were young, but your dad was really popular back then—for a preacher. If you were Navajo and wanted to convert, or you were unhappy with your own church, that’s where you ended up. Your father was a force to be reckoned with,” Jayne said, then added, “That should tell you how strong a woman your mom is, because she never converted. She remained a traditionalist.”
“She’s a force all on her own,” Ella agreed. The news that the victims had all been associated with her father’s church wasn’t unexpected because it had been the Protestant church in the community for many years. But it wasn’t welcome news. Ella had too many memories of the Divine Word, and only a few of them were pleasant. It had been years since she’d stepped foot in that church.
Finishing lunch quickly, Blalock and Ella said good-bye to Jayne and went back outside. “I saw your reaction when she mentioned your father’s church, Clah. You want me to handle that part on my own?”
“No, but it’s only fair to give you a heads-up. I’m not sure how we’ll be greeted there. There’s another Navajo minister there now, Reverend Leroy Curtis, and I heard he doesn’t appreciate my family’s adherence to traditional Navajo beliefs.”
“If Curtis drags his feet, we can always threaten to subpoena their records,” Blalock said.
“That may not get us the results we want. And, if word gets out we pressured a minister, you can count on a backlash that’ll go all the way back to the Bureau. Let’s play nice, at least at first. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll let us have a look at the old records.”
They drove west down the main highway, over the river, then northeast. Her father’s old church stood about halfway between the river and the highway, atop a weathered mesa. She’d always hated the view from there, but not nearly as much as the constant pressure she’d been under during her teens to attend services.
For her, that place would always echo with memories of being torn between her mother’s and her father’s beliefs, the people she’d loved most, and of feeling like she’d never belong anywhere. Of course the end result had been that she’d rejected everything, married as soon as she got out of high school, then moved away.
Ella set all those memories aside and concentrated on what they were here to do. As she pulled up in front of the main church building, partially remodeled into a stylized hogan, a distinguished-looking Navajo man in his late thirties and wearing a white shirt and tie came out.
“Is that Reverend Curtis? And how the heck did he know to expect us?” Blalock asked Ella. “Did he get a sign?”
Ella groaned. Obviously, Blalock was trying to lighten up the moment just a little. “From his office he can see us coming up the road. Maybe he’s just affording us the courtesy of coming out to meet us—Navajo style.”
Ella got out first and approached the reverend. He knew who she was. They’d met years ago during some public event.
Blalock, a few steps behind, introduced himself and displayed his ID. The Navajo cleric didn’t offer to shake hands with him and, Blalock, used to tribal ways, hadn’t expected it.
“I’m Reverend Leroy Curtis,” he said for Blalock’s benefit. “Would you two like to come inside? We can sit down in my office and talk comfortably there.”
Ella stiffened. The last place she wanted to see again was her father’s old office, no matter who was sitting behind the desk.
Blalock accepted before she had a chance to reply, and Ella followed them in, aware of how little had actually changed on the inside over the years. The walls were still stark white and simple wooden crucifixes hung over each doorway. She suppressed a shudder as Reverend Curtis stopped at the familiar door, with the old, hand-carved wooden sign—PASTOR—and waved them in.
“I believe this was your father’s office at one time, Inspector Clah,” he said casually.
Ella nodded, trying to push back the uneasiness that gripped her and grateful that at least the furniture and personal mementos on the walls were different.
“So tell me, what can I do for you two officers?” he asked, taking a seat behind the desk.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Ella said, her voice steadier than she felt in these still familiar surroundings. Handing him the list of the three murder victims, she added, “Were any of these women members of this church, going back maybe fourteen or fifteen years?”
He glanced at it, then shrugged. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you. These names don’t sound particularly familiar, and our computer records don’t go that far back, so it’s not just a matter of taking a quick look. I’d have to sort through records stored in the basement and, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t even know where to begin searching. I’ve only been here seven years myself.”
“We’d be happy to help, or conduct the search for you,” Ella said.
“I can’t give you access to our records, not without the board’s permission. You should know that,” he replied coldly.
“Then we’d like you to approach them as quickly as possible,” Ella said. “We wouldn’t be asking unless it was important, Reverend Curtis, believe me. Lives could be at stake.”
He nodded slowly. “We wouldn’t want that on our consciences. So, all right. The fact that you have personal ties to this church might make things move along a little easier. Your father was very well thought of by everyone here, and his photograph still hangs beside the entrance to the chapel.”
“If the church is worried about respecting the privacy of the individuals on that list, rest assured there’s no need for concern,” Blalock said. “The women in question are deceased.”
Ella had to force herself not to wince as she saw Reverend Curtis’s expression darken. Blalock, trying to be accommodating, had given out too much information.
“It sounds to me like you’re trying to involve our church in a scandal. That is unacceptable.” Reverend Curtis glared at Ella. “Miss Clah, you never fail to surprise me. You dishonor your father’s memory by not joining our congregation, then, adding insult to injury, you form a close relationship with that liberal church up on the hill. Their latest membership drive is focused on poaching away our congregation with a promise of instant salvation and their ‘believe what you want’ doctrine. Trying to lead God’s children astray is Satan’s work. Your father always warned his flock of the dangers of failing to follow the literal translation of the Lord’s Holy Bible.”
He sounded so much like her father that Ella felt like getting up and walking out right then. “We’re investigating a crime that has ties to the reservation, Reverend—to the people you claim to care about. If you’re a true shepherd of the Diné then please take the action needed to protect your flock from a very real, physical danger.”
He said nothing for several long moments, his gaze resting on the crucifix across the room. Finally, he looked back at her. “You believe that these two other women are connected somehow to Valerie Tso…that maybe all three women went to church here…and perhaps the killer as well?”
“I can’t verify or deny that, Reverend,” Ella said. “I’
ve already told you more than I should have in hopes of getting your cooperation.”
Reverend Curtis stood and gazed out the window. “You’ve placed me in a very difficult position,” he said slowly. “Sacrificing privacy in exchange for safety and protection is a mixed blessing, especially if it turns out to be a false alarm.”
“Maybe if we spoke to the board president ourselves…” Ella suggested.
“No, it should come from me,” he said flatly. “It’s my responsibility. Give me the rest of the afternoon to track down and speak to the people who need to approve of this.”
“Time is of the essence, Reverend,” she said quietly. Reverend Curtis led them out, and moments later they were headed down the church road toward the highway. Ella hadn’t said a word since they’d left the church.
“Yeah, Clah, I know. Interviewing skills 101. Never show your hand or volunteer information. I blew it back there.”
“Just a little,” she said with a trace of a smile. They’d just reached the stop sign at the end of the drive when Justine called on the cell phone.
“I’ve got something for you, Ella,” she said. “It seems Brewster hired a new waitress, Barbara Tom. She barely made it through her first shift before walking out and going straight to the legal center to file sexual harassment charges. But there’s more. The Fierce Ones know all about this.”
“How, so soon?” Ella asked quickly.
“They were in on it from the beginning. Lea Garner’s mom arranged the whole thing. When she found out about Lea and Brewster, she had a meltdown. The Garners aren’t traditionalists, but they know about the Fierce Ones and were able to get their advice. So Mrs. Garner ended up getting together with Barbara Tom’s mom and they set Brewster up. They actually have him on tape now.”
Ella cursed, guessing what the Fierce Ones’s next move would be. “Okay, I’m going to try and nip this in the bud before we have a disaster,” she said. “Brewster will undoubtedly be getting a visit from the vigilantes real soon. Subtlety isn’t their style. But there’s something else I need you to do right now. Make a list of all the known felons who might have been in the community at the time my father was preaching here and who subsequently went to prison. Concentrate on those with a propensity for violence.”
Turquoise Girl Page 13
