“He’s a neat freak, like you,” Justine said with a grin.
Before Ella could answer, a short, portly Navajo man with long, graying hair tied in a ponytail appeared in the doorway of the shop. “Can I help you ladies?” he asked, then as his gaze fell on Ella, he added, “I recognize you.”
Ella held out her badge. “Are you Wilbert Bruce?” she asked.
Wilbert nodded. “Do you need a saddle for your daughter? I’ll make you a real good deal, and I’ll move you to the top of the list. A courtesy, in memory of your father.”
“Thanks, but not at this time. I’m here on police business.”
“Then you’ve wasted a trip. I’m clean now, thanks to your father,” he said firmly.
Ella studied his expression. He had The Look. She’d seen it on many of her father’s followers. It was that unqualified devotion to a God she neither understood nor trusted. If He was all-powerful, then why was there so much misery in the world? Her father had had a dozen answers, but none satisfied her.
“Is this about the death of the fallen woman? She found Our Lord and she’s in Paradise now and at peace.”
Ella stared at him. For a moment she could practically hear her father speaking those very same words. “Tell me what you know about Valerie Tso.”
Wilbert led them into his workshop, a small, well-lit room with the rich smell of leather, oils, and saddle soap. “I’ll work as we talk.” Sitting on a wooden stool beside a big bench, he picked up a mallet and metal embossing tool and began creating a design along the surface of a leather bridle. Seeing two more stools on the other side of the bench, Ella and Justine took a seat.
“That poor woman was just like me in a lot of ways. A lost soul. When she hit bottom she reached out to the Lord, as I did, and that’s what saved her. Her body may be dead, but her spirit lives.”
Ella studied the fervor in his face. How well acquainted she was with such enthusiasm. “Was she really that devout? That wasn’t the impression I got.”
“Valerie was going in the right direction. Sometimes, particularly at first, all you can take are baby steps.”
“What else do you know about her, Mr. Bruce? Were you two friends?”
“Just acquaintances. We talked sometimes after Sunday church or our Wednesday night service.”
“Do you know if Valerie was afraid of anyone?” Ella pressed. “Maybe an old enemy…or a new one.”
He continued his careful work for a while, then finally answered. “Valerie was no stranger to fear. That’s usually what forces a person to change—fear that you’ll self-destruct, fear that you’ll never know what being happy is, fear of death and what might await you there.” He paused for a while, surveying his work, then added, “But if there was someone specifically she was frightened of…well, I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Do you know any of these women?” Ella reached into her pocket and handed him the list of victims she’d also shown Reverend Curtis.
He looked closely at the names, then back at her. “I’ve met all three a long time ago, before I went to prison.”
“What can you tell me about them?”
“The first two on this list were…silly women,” he said, then shook his head.
Normally, she wouldn’t have rushed a witness who was collecting his thoughts but when the silence dragged on, she realized he didn’t intend to say anything else, so she pressed him. “Why do you think they were silly?”
He looked at her, then back at the bridle. “I’m not sure you need…or should…hear this.”
“I’m a police detective investigating a crime. Nothing you can say will shock me,” Ella said.
He pursed his lips for a moment, then continued in a hesitant voice. “Your father attracted women like bees to honey. It wasn’t his fault, and he did his best to ignore it. He was a happily married man by all accounts. But some of the women dogged him, hanging on to his every word, and flirting with him constantly. Like two of those women on your list.”
“They were interested in my dad?” Ella repeated, trying to come to grips with what he’d said. Thinking back, Ella really couldn’t remember her mother ever mentioning that aspect of her father’s life.
“Yes, but it was more like the girls who used to try and touch Elvis when he was onstage. All nonsense. Groupies, they call them. Your father didn’t encourage that sort of thing, but I suspect he didn’t really mind too much since it encouraged some of the young women to keep coming to church,” he said, then added, “They all saw him as larger than life. And, in a way, he was. Reverend Destea had charisma with a capital C.”
“One last thing, Wilbert. Where were you three days ago between six and ten in the evening?”
He shrugged. “Right here. Working. Alone, except for the Lord.”
Ella went back silently to the car with Justine. This new bit of information about her father had taken her by surprise.
“The common denominator seems to be your father,” Justine said, still trying to process the information in her own mind. “I was just a little kid when I first heard the stories. Women did have a thing for him. But those of us who had other plans for Sunday always gave him a wide berth. He was a very…enthusiastic…preacher.”
“You mean he’d try to convert everyone? That I remember. But the pressure was more subtle at home because of Mom, I guess.”
Ella thought about what she’d learned. It opened the road to a new set of possibilities. Maybe the killer was one of the congregation, perhaps a man who was jealous of what her father had accomplished. Unable to save souls by rhetoric, like her dad had done, he was now using violence to accomplish the same—at least in his own mind.
“Let’s go find my mother. I need to talk her.”
Twelve
It was a little past 6 P.M. by the time they arrived at Herman’s place. He’d seen them coming—the road winded downhill from the highway into the river-shaped valley—and gone inside to get Rose. A few seconds later, she stepped out onto the porch.
“Have either of you had dinner?” Rose glanced at Justine and then back at Ella as they came to meet her.
“No. But I don’t think we have time—”
“You’ll make time, daughter,” she said firmly. “You’ve had a very busy and hazardous day, judging from that bruise on your face. Now come in.”
Herman stepped into the living room from the kitchen, a coffee cup in hand. “Welcome to our home, ladies. Please excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have animals that require tending.” He slipped outside before they could reply, so Ella and Justine went to join Rose.
Ella’s mother moved fluidly in the kitchen, which was smaller than the one she’d been using for decades. But this was her domain, and she’d quickly adapted to the layout and appliances in Herman’s home. Even over a cooking fire in the mountains, Rose could make delicious meals without so much as looking at a recipe, much less a measuring cup. To her it was instinctive, an ability Ella had yet to master.
Rose brought out bowls of mutton stew, and freshly made naniscaada, handmade tortillas that had no equal on the Rez. “My husband and I have just eaten, so you go ahead.”
Ella ate quickly and hungrily, as did Justine. They had a long night ahead and some warm food was just what they’d need to stay focused.
Rose cleared her throat. “Before you tell me why you came here tonight, you should know that I don’t want to even discuss my former friend. I heard about the trouble today with the Fierce Ones, trouble that she’s responsible for causing. Her grief is destroying her common sense. My former friend had no right putting you, my own daughter, in such danger. Such lack of faith and trust is unforgivable, especially after all you’ve done for her and her family,” Rose said, her eyes tearing slightly.
“Mom, she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Ella said, deeply touched by her mother’s words. Rose’s friendship with Lena had spanned a half a century. “What she did was wrong, but she’ll come to her senses eventually. Thanks for s
ticking up for me and my team.”
Rose nodded, wiping away the tears. “If you’re not here to talk about her, then you must have come on that other matter,” Rose said, her voice stronger now. “I’ve heard that you’re wanting to take a look at the old membership records from your father’s church. Reverend Curtis said he’d help you, but he hasn’t been putting too much energy into his efforts.”
“Mom, how do you know all this?”
“Elena Marquez is still on the church board, and she called me. Knowing that my former friend is being slowly destroyed by the loss of her daughter, I encouraged Elena to help you in any way possible so you can find whoever’s responsible for the crime. Elena promised to make sure you were given access. Your father kept very good records, daughter. It was his way. That church always had his heart. We, his family, came second.”
“Mom, I wanted to ask you about something I heard recently. Is it true that some of the younger women had crushes on Dad?”
Rose smiled. “Oh yes, that’s very true. Your father would joke about it and tell me that whatever the Lord chose as a tool to gather his sheep and make them listen to His word was fine with him.”
“Did anyone at the church resent that?” Ella asked.
“I have no idea,” Rose answered. “I had very little to do with your father’s business. But people do get jealous.”
Ella sat back, lost in thought. That church, her father, his preaching, the victims…were all connected. But how did Valerie fit into that picture? “Was Boot’s mother ever a member of Dad’s church?”
Rose shook her head. “Her mother, my former friend, would have never allowed it. But I know that when Boot’s mother was young, she went once or twice to your father’s church with a friend. Not to see your father, mind you. It was that other man.”
“Other man? Who was he?” Ella asked, seeing Justine, who’d been busy eating, look over in surprise.
“I don’t recall his name. I barely knew him. I never went to the services unless your father specifically asked me to go and, even then, I’d never take part. After a while, your father stopped asking. He told me he understood, but I don’t think he ever really did.”
“Thanks for telling me all this, Mom,” Ella said gently. She could see the sorrow and mixed feelings those memories evoked in her mother and regretted having brought the subject up, especially with Rose already so upset about Lena Clani.
“We’re going to go to the church and take a look at that membership list. Thanks for clearing the way for me, Mom.”
While Justine drove, Ella leaned back in her seat and tried to sort everything she’d learned.
“I know the church seems to be the best lead we’ve got to the killer, and this other man your mom spoke about is an unknown, but Brewster still gets my vote,” Justine said.
“He’s certainly number one on the Fierce Ones’s list. But let’s look at the evidence. Would Brewster even know a Bible passage like the one the killer used, and more to the point, does he strike you as the type to use one for justification?” Ella countered.
“Yes, if he were trying to frame Reverend Campbell,” Justine answered. “He could have looked the passage up in a concordance. And there was a Bible right there in the vic’s apartment, too.”
“Good point. But if it wasn’t Brewster, then we’re right back to the link all three women shared—my father’s church.”
“Even if the killer was an official member of the congregation during your father’s time, he’s only going to be one name in a list that’s bound to be miles long. Your father always packed the house.”
Ella nodded somberly. “We’ll have our work cut out for us.” She checked her watch just as her cell phone began to ring. It was Reverend Curtis. His call was short and cold.
“We’ve got permission to search the records, I take it?” Justine asked when Ella ended the call.
“We’ll probably go over tomorrow morning,” Ella confirmed, shoving her phone back into her jacket pocket. It rang again, and Ella flinched. Justine chuckled.
“Surprised me, that’s all,” Ella said, reaching back into her pocket. The caller was Special Agent Dwayne Blalock.
“I interviewed Marco Pete,” Blalock began, then updated her on his efforts. “He was still far too weak for me to lean on, but I got the idea that he’s holding back on what happened just before the accident. When I mentioned Valerie’s name, his eyes got as big as saucers, and keep in mind that there’s no way he could have known she’d been murdered. After that, the doctor asked me to leave.”
Ella smiled, thinking of the scene at the hospital. Blalock was as subtle as a brick, so “mentioning” could have covered a lot of possibilities.
“Something else. I decided to run down Brewster’s alibi anyway, and double-check what the tire dealer had said. So I went to the Double Play and had a one-on-one with the lady Marine. It turns out that the story about the game on the big screen was garbage. Someone took out the plasma TV with a beer bottle the night before the murder, so they’d brought in a couple of big old-timers on carts. That’s supposed to keep the customers around until the big one can be fixed.”
“How about meeting us at Brewster’s place?” Ella suggested.
“You’ve got it.”
“Before you challenge his alibi, let me play a hunch. Just follow my lead,” Ella said.
Twenty-five minutes later they sat in Brewster’s spacious den when Donna excused herself and went into the kitchen. Justine followed, ostensibly to question her separately.
“What’s going on between you and Reverend Campbell,” Ella asked, deciding to play a bluff and see where it took her. She recalled Ford telling her that Brewster and Reverend Campbell didn’t get along, and from what Reverend Campbell himself had told her, she suspected that the cleric knew all about Brewster’s kinky games.
Stan’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed. “What did that pious SOB tell you?”
“I need to hear it from you,” Ella said harshly, glad to see she’d hit a nerve.
“He’s crazy, that’s all, probably convinced that I had something to do with Valerie’s murder. He comes in from time to time to pick up lunch and the day Valerie died, he happened to overhear an offhand comment I made to her. But the preacher is way out on line on this. I should sue his self-righteous butt for slander.”
“Talk to the lawyers later. What kind of comment did you make?” Blalock pressed.
“I was feeling crappy that day and snapping at everyone, so I suggested she should help me relax. She kissed me off, said she’d rather risk losing her job.”
“Help you relax, how?” Blalock shot back. “Give you a lap dance?”
He shook his head. “Not just that.”
Ella took a deep breath. She wanted to lean over and smack him. Instead she sat very still.
“Quit stalling and get to the point. Were you in Valerie’s Tso’s apartment the night she died?” Blalock demanded.
“No. I wanted to drop by, but she said she had other plans.”
“Like what?”
“No idea.”
“So what’s the deal between you and Reverend Campbell now?” Ella pressed. Gut instinct told her that there was more to the story.
He expelled his breath in a hiss. “Same old. It goes back a ways.” He met Ella’s stony gaze. “But I suppose you want a walk down memory lane?” Seeing Ella’s curt nod, he continued. “When Valerie ended up joining a different church, Campbell asked me to stop by his office for a chat,” he said. “I knew he and Valerie had spoken privately several times before she decided to join the Divine Word. That’s why I thought I’d better go find out if she’d said anything I should worry about.”
Stan walked to the window, then stared at his backyard. “I went in, intending to offer him a check, if that’s what it took to keep him from carrying tales. He’d never turned down any of the money I’d given him for their youth programs, that’s for sure. But, this time, he wasn’t interested in any cash.
He wanted to save me from myself—his exact words. I told him I was fine, and then he said he’d heard some disturbing rumors about the way I treated women, tales he might have had to report to the authorities to keep someone from getting hurt.”
“And you thought that the stories came from Valerie?”
“Yeah, of course I did.”
“So then what?” Blalock asked.
“Then nothing. I went my way and I haven’t spoken to him since.”
“Your alibi’s crap, buddy,” Blalock said, walking over to confront him. “Care to rethink things? According to the owner, that big-screen TV at the Double Play was out of commission the night you claimed to have been watching.”
“Did I say we watched the game on the big screen?” he said with a shrug. “Habit, I guess.”
“Or a lie. How’d the game turn out?”
“Eight to five, Boston.”
“Could have read that in the paper. Winning pitcher?”
“Don’t recall. Both teams used several. Johnson started for Boston. One of his relievers obviously got the win.”
Blalock stepped right up into the man’s face. “So where’d you get your gas that night?” he pressed.
“What gas?” Brewster took a step back, confused.
“I thought you said you drove up to Navajo Lake after the game. Where’d you stop for gas? Use a credit card?” Blalock pressed, inches from Brewster’s face. “Where’d you stop?”
Brewster’s cheeks were glowing, but his eyes had narrowed. He brought up his hands.
“Make a fist and I’ll drop you, dumb ass,” Blalock said, his voice low and hard.
Brewster was shaking, but he lowered his arms and sat down, refusing to make eye contact.
“Where did you stop for gas, Stan?” Ella asked. “You need more of an alibi than we’re seeing so far.”
“Didn’t need to stop. Filled up earlier in the day. I pay cash, though, usually at Gasco over on Orchard Street. Doubt they’d remember, though.”
Turquoise Girl Page 15
