Turquoise Girl

by Thurlo, David

  “Frenzy Medicine. That’s bad,” Ralph Tache whispered.

  Ella nodded somberly.

  Nineteen

  Ella and Justine left for the construction site immediately while the team remained at the station, processing evidence but ready to back them up, if necessary.

  “Okay, spill it,” Justine said. “I’ve heard the term before but what exactly is Frenzy Medicine?”

  Ella expelled her breath in a hiss. “My mother told me about this once. Frenzy Medicine is part witchcraft and part science. It’s said to be brought on by a mixture of plants, one being Datura, that’s sprinkled on people’s food, or on their bodies, to make them act crazy. The suggestion that a skinwalker might use it on the workers who stay is going to heighten fear and complicate things even more.”

  “And there’ll be some who’ll say that anyone who shows up for work anyplace a skinwalker cursed is already crazy or bewitched—a victim of Frenzy Medicine. Am I close?”

  “Yeah, this kind of things feeds off itself. I need to let everyone who wasn’t there earlier know that my brother did a Shield Prayer, and that insures no one there’s going to be bewitched.”

  When they arrived at the turnoff leading to the construction site, Ella was relieved to see Benjamin Harvey standing by his pickup, alone. From the dust in the distance, work was continuing, at least for the moment.

  She climbed out of the department vehicle, along with Justine, who’d brought a clipboard with copies of her paperwork.

  “Yáat’ééh,” Benjamin said to Ella, then nodded to Justine, who nodded back.

  “Since you showed respect for our concerns, the people here trust you. I need you to tell me exactly what we’re up against. What was a you-know-what doing here? What’s the construction got to do with their kind? I’ve already been told that a hataalii was here at sunrise, but the workers who came later missed out on that. I need someone who doesn’t sign their paychecks to reassure them with some straight answers. Give me something to tell them they can believe.”

  Ella noted that Benjamin was being careful. Just saying the word “skinwalker” was believed to call them to you. She turned to Justine. “Tell him, in nontechnical terms, what we found out.”

  Justine nodded. “I have the results of the chemical analysis we ran on the ashes found here the other night. They came from wood, as in the type that comes from a lumber yard, not from a hogan, killed or otherwise, and certainly not from any person or animal. The security guard here last night speaks our language, too, and after questioning, was able to confirm that the chanting he heard was nonsense, made-up sounds mostly, not Navajo songs.”

  “How do you know what sounds a real you-know-what makes during a ritual?” Benjamin asked.

  “I’ve heard them myself, and they’re distinctive,” Ella admitted softly. “You never forget something like that, believe me.”

  Benjamin nodded somberly. “I see you’re wearing a jish.” He glanced down at the medicine bag she’d attached to her belt.

  “Do you have one?” Ella asked.

  “In my pocket,” he answered. “I have one more question about last night. What about that…hand? That was for real, wasn’t it? Has the site really been cleansed of the contamination?”

  Ella answered him. “Here are the facts. The hand was stolen from a grave and placed here. It’s gone now, and will be returned to the cemetery later. But a hataalii, my brother, was here at daybreak, gave everyone gall medicine for protection, and conducted a Shield Prayer. Under his counsel, even the contaminated soil was removed with a piece of heavy equipment, and buried in a mined-out area off the Navajo Nation. The company brought in an Anglo crew to do the work. The equipment was blessed and also removed. There should be no danger now.”

  Benjamin said nothing, but he still looked worried.

  “I’ve asked my brother to come back, talk to the men, and provide extra protection to anyone who feels they need it,” Ella added, “especially those who weren’t here when he sang the prayer. But what happened here was mostly staged—like it was with the fake pottery. Someone, possibly the same man who called you and others hoping to stir things up, wants people to be afraid. He might have been the one pretending to be—an evil one,” she said at last. “But pretend magic can’t harm anyone.”

  Ella had just sat down at her desk when her phone rang. Teeny’s deep voice reverberated through the wire. “I’ve got some news for you. Once I hacked into the New Mexico Bureau of Revenue and Taxation gross receipts records—whoops, forget I said that—I discovered that our man had a print shop in Farmington eleven years ago. Caleb Frank would do notices and things like that for the church, giving them a discount in exchange for free advertising. But he shut his business down six months after it opened, and then dropped off the face of the earth. He stiffed a lot of people when he bailed, too, including the state of New Mexico.”

  “If he disappeared like that, then chances are he probably changed his name and took on an entirely new identity,” Ella said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, so I’ve got my people asking around about him. Maybe someone will remember something that’ll give us a lead to his current whereabouts.”

  “I need you to check on something else for me. Look into the backgrounds of the victims in L.A. and Kayenta. See if either woman had children, and if they did, I want their addresses.”

  “What are you after?”

  “A link between those two women and Valerie.”

  “So you’re thinking that they might have had kids who went to the same reservation school, something like that?”

  “Yeah. Like that. It’s a long shot, I know, but give it a shot.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Ella had just hung up when her phone rang and Big Ed called her to his office.

  Ella joined him moments later, and took the chair by his desk.

  “Anything new to report?” he asked her.

  She told him about her conversation with Teeny. “I’m just playing a hunch.”

  “It sounds worth pursuing,” he said with a nod. He regarded her for a moment then continued in a somber voice. “You need to go pay your brother a visit.”

  Ella sat up abruptly. “Has something happened?”

  “He’s safe, so breathe easy,” Big Ed said quickly, “but while he was at the construction site talking to the workers, someone trashed his medicine hogan.”

  “That’s got to be the work of that wannabe skinwalker. I’d bet on it,” Ella said firmly. “No normal Navajo would hassle a hataalii, particularly one of my brother’s stature.”

  “He filed a report, and a patrolman who went over said that there wasn’t much by way of evidence. It went down as vandalism.”

  “Footprints?”

  “Rubbed out with a branch. But go take a look.”

  It was a cloudless afternoon as she drove to her brother’s place. The high plateau seemed to stretch out in all directions, and seeing the vastness helped her relax. She’d always been uncomfortable in the city, where views were restricted by masses of buildings. There’d been a time when she’d told herself that she was a new-generation Navajo, and she needed to experience urban life. Yet, in the long run, there hadn’t been enough on the outside to keep her away from the sacred mountains. This was the land of her people—the Diné Tah. Now that she had a daughter, she wanted Dawn to find and claim a place for herself here, too.

  Ella passed Rose’s home, still under construction, but she didn’t linger. There was more pressing business to take care of now. A short distance down the road she could see a pickup with four or five men standing around while two more were working on a tire. As she got closer, she could see carpentry tools in the bed of the vehicle.

  Passing by at a crawl to prevent stirring up dust, she noticed the left rear tire had been changed, and lug nuts were being tightened. The men seemed to have everything under control and obviously didn’t need any help. Recognizing a few faces, she waved but continued on.
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br />   Five minutes later, as Ella pulled up to her brother’s place, her body stiffened behind the wheel. She’d expected to find things in disarray, but nothing had prepared her for this.

  There was a gaping hole in the side of her brother’s hogan. If it was supposed to look like a killed hogan—one where a death had occurred—the vandal had made a mistake. The hole was on the wrong side, maybe the result of someone not wanting to be seen by someone coming up the road.

  The gaping hole hadn’t been made by chopping out logs with an axe, or pulling them loose with help from a team of horses. From the precise cuts in the pine logs and sawdust scattered everywhere, whoever had done this had used a chain saw and had taken the evidence with him. This was no ritual act—it was pure vandalism.

  As Ella climbed out of the cruiser, her brother appeared at the entrance to the hogan. “I was wondering if you’d stop by.”

  “Do you have any idea who did this?” she asked, her voice taut with anger.

  “No. It could be someone who’s trying to get back at me, maybe because I keep neutralizing his efforts to halt work on the new power plant,” he said in a very controlled voice.

  She could tell he was fighting hard to stay calm and not give in to the anger he felt. “It’s okay if you want to go punch something,” she said quietly.

  Clifford looked up at her and smiled thinly. “I may do that,” he said. “Someone, not something, though.”

  “Can you afford to repair the hogan?”

  “My services aren’t in high demand now, since quite a few people feel I should oppose the power plant. But the construction company has already paid me for my services as a hataalii, so I’ll be able to make repairs. I won’t be able to hire any help though, so it’s going to take some time.”

  Hearing an approaching vehicle honking, Ella turned. “I think you’re underestimating your friends,” she said and pointed. The pickup she’d passed on the way was now coming up the road. The men were shouting and waving.

  “It seems that not everyone disapproves of your efforts, brother,” she said.

  Clifford smiled at her and went to greet the men. Ella watched for a moment, then returned back to her patrol car. It was time to go. Things here were as they should be.

  Before she’d gotten a mile, Joe Neskahi contacted her.

  “I’ve been running the names of all the workers at the construction site, anyone who might have had access to the fuel trucks, like the one used to destroy the office building,” he said. “One by one, I’ve eliminated most of the crew. But there’s one name that doesn’t check out. I’ve got an address from the construction company’s records, but the man has no driver’s license or anything on record that I could find. He’s a part-time worker who fits the description of the man at the demonstration, the one with the camera. And even more important, maybe, he fits the description of that man you saw at the Divine Word. The one who helped you go for a swim.”

  Ella grumbled something unintelligible. “He has a scar across his face right above his eyes?”

  “That’s him. He wears big sunglasses sometimes to hide it, according to people he’s worked around.”

  “What’s his name? Not Caleb Frank?”

  “No, he’s listed as a Leroy Atso,” Joe said, and read off directions to the man’s home. “Do you want me to send backup?”

  “Too much attention might scare him off. Let me take a look first. I’m in that general area right now.”

  Ella drove to the highway, went farther south, then took another side road, and headed east. In this area, a location well away from any good water source, there were only a few NHA built homes. After driving two or three miles, Ella noticed the hollowed-out shell of what had once been a small wood-framed house. She recalled hearing about a fire out here that had claimed a life, so it surprised her to see recent vehicle tracks leading toward it.

  She slowed down, looking in that direction as she drove past, but no vehicle was parked there now, not in front or back. This was Leroy Atso’s address—obviously, nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

  There was another house about a half mile away, so Ella decided to keep driving. Maybe the address was wrong or, if not, maybe the neighbor could tell her who’d been driving up to the burnt-out house.

  Seeing a young Navajo woman hanging out laundry, Ella stopped and parked. The house was clean and pleasant looking, and had a small garden protected from rabbits by chicken wire. The residence even had a well.

  Ella saw the woman was dressed like a traditionalist. She had on a long skirt, conservative green velveteen blouse, and her hair was styled in the traditional tsiiyeel, a bun that was knotted and tied with a long piece of yarn. It was said to wrap a woman’s thoughts securely, near her mind, so good thoughts and wisdom could stay close to her.

  Having seen Ella drive up, the woman placed her basket on the ground, then came over. “Yáat’ééh, officer,” she greeted.

  Ella returned the greeting. Clearly, the woman must have noted the extra aerial and the tribal plate, or had seen her before at a chapter house meeting.

  “Please, come inside,” she invited, motioning toward the front door. “I had a feeling the police would eventually come by to talk to me,” she said, offering Ella a seat on the couch.

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” Ella said, surprised.

  “You’re here about that man, the crazy one, aren’t you? The one who went to that burnt-out house?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Tell me what you know about him.”

  “I first saw him a few days ago. He drove his truck right up there. I thought that maybe he didn’t know the history of the place so I went over to warn him. I got as close as I dared, but he was busy ripping out what was left of some wood planks on the side of the house and either didn’t hear me, or didn’t care. So I came back home. I saw him build a fire from the boards, and he let it burn for a long time while he was hammering around back. Then it got dark and, a few hours later, I saw headlights as he drove away. I haven’t see him since.”

  “Do you know what he was hammering?” Ella asked.

  “No. I won’t go near that place for anything,” she said simply.

  “Thanks for your help,” Ella said walking to the door.

  “Walk in beauty,” the woman said.

  Curious, Ella drove toward the house, parked about a hundred yards from the ruins, then circled the house on foot, giving it a wide berth. Something didn’t feel right. In the shadows on the north wall, she could make out something shaped like a big X.

  Ella advanced toward it, keeping her hand near her holster. She was out in the open, and the ruined house could still provide cover for someone hiding inside. Fifty feet away, able to see clearly into the burnt shell of a house for the first time, she verified that no one was inside.

  She studied the X, moving in for a closer look. It was a cross constructed from two lengths of two-by-four lumber that appeared to have been burnt in the original fire. It had been placed on the ground, leaning to one side. In the center, the letters E and C had been painted in red. She stepped closer to get a look at a strangely shaped object on the ground right in front of the cross. It was a jish, a Navajo’s medicine bag.

  Ella didn’t want to draw her entire team to this remote spot and waste time, but she needed Justine now. Looking around as she spoke to her on the phone, Ella described the scene. “I don’t see any discernible footprints, and the wood’s just lumber taken from the frame of the house. But maybe the jish will tell us something.”

  “I’ll be there in, what, say a half hour?” Justine said.

  Ella took a quick look through what had been the front door. There was one footprint. It was almost obscured by the rubble around it, but it was there. She studied it for a moment then unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched, she went back to the cruiser. At least there, she wouldn’t present an easy target.

  Ella brought out her rifle, fed a round into the chamber, then place
d it on the seat next to her. Minutes ticked by slowly. After about ten minutes, Ella heard a coyote howl. Coyote, in Navajo legends, was a trickster—uncertain as either an ally or an enemy. Bringing out her binoculars, she studied the surrounding area, looking for movement, or someone watching back. It was calm and she could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  Justine arrived within twenty-five minutes, having made good time from the station. While Ella examined the scorched ground where the man had made the fire, Justine photographed the footprints and the scene. She then processed the cross for fingerprints. It was a futile gesture. Apparently, the crazy man hadn’t been too crazy. He’d obviously worn gloves.

  “I found tool marks over by the fire where he burned some of the wood he’d salvaged from the house. He also scooped up some of the ashes with what looks to have been a shovel.”

  “That’s probably the source of the ashes we’ve been finding recently,” Justine said. “I’ll take some photos, and samples of the remaining ashes. If this stuff matches what we’ve already got, it’ll tell us something, at least.”

  Justine looked at the cross and the jish. “This is the killer’s signature—some Christian symbolism and some Navajo—like what we found at the murder scene.”

  “It’s a message within a message and we’re just not getting it,” Ella said under her breath.

  As Ella helped Justine gather and bag samples of ash, her phone rang. It was Big Ed.

  “Shorty, I need you two back here at the station pronto. Teeny found something interesting.”

  “On our way,” she said, then updated Justine. “We better go see what Teeny’s got for us.”

  Ella drove back to the station, Justine in the vehicle behind her. Once there, Justine went to the lab to drop off the evidence while Ella went directly to Big Ed’s office. Finding it empty, she looked up and down the hall. That’s when one of the department’s secretaries spotted her.