“The ones that survived, the ancestors of the present Fire-Sky population. Did their markers change back?” Nicky asked.
“No,” he said. “Population genetics can’t shift that rapidly—especially null alleles, which are essentially nonworking genes. Breeding with outsiders—in this case Old World peoples or other Indians—mixes up the pool of HLA markers. That’s the only way to add foreign alleles to a population. Saunders found the purer the Fire-Sky blood ancestry, the higher the number of HLA null alleles they have. The purest specimens, er, individuals, contain almost one hundred percent nulls.”
“But you said their genetics caused people to die when they were exposed to diseases. Why didn’t the hundred percent nulls all die?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there are other, unidentified genes that let them survive. Maybe that’s why they should allow their DNA to be studied.”
“Why did Saunders do this?” Nicky asked. “Do you think he was going to sell this information to these ancestry DNA companies as a way to genetically identify Indians?”
“Maybe. He had access to more dead Indians than most people. That might have given him the idea.”
Nicky compressed her lips. That answer was plain ugly.
She shifted her body to relieve some of the tension in her neck and back as she turned off the main road to Savannah’s, and moved her left foot back to the underside of the seat.
Her heel bumped into something firm, smooth, and unexpected. Curious, she pushed at the object. It jerked, contracted, and slid sickeningly along the back of her boot. A loud, brittle rattling came from under her seat and filled the inside of her unit with stomach-churning vibrations. Nicky snatched her foot away. Gooseflesh rose on her body. The hair on the back of her neck prickled painfully. Her heart thrummed so loudly, she had trouble focusing on Meloni’s voice.
“Do you have any more questions, Sergeant?”
Fear stronger than she’d ever known cleaved her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Her eyes watered with it.
“Sergeant? Are you still there? Is something wrong?”
“No.” Her reply came out as a dry whisper. She cleared her throat. “No,” in a louder voice. “I’ll call if … I have anything … else.”
“Okeydokey. You’ve got my number. Call me with any questions at all.” He hung up.
She drove down the darkened road, desperate to stay as still as possible, foot steady on the gas pedal. The fingers of her right hand slowly uncurled from the death grip she had on the steering wheel. She flipped a switch above her. The interior flooded with light.
The rattling sound intensified. Buzzing pulsations ran through the driver’s seat.
Slowly, she leaned forward, parting her thighs to look down at the floor.
Half under the seat, inches from her feet and legs and coiled in a tense spiral, lay a large, agitated rattlesnake.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Nicky pressed her head against her knees and kept her breathing deep and slow so she wouldn’t throw up.
“You sure it didn’t bite you?” Frank knelt beside her. His hand rubbed back and forth over her back. Savannah sat in the sand next to her and clutched her fingers tightly. “Did she tell you it bit her, Savannah? Nicky, we have to be sure. I need you to go with Savannah to the house and show her your legs, honey.”
“Just as soon as I can stand up without falling down.” One more deep breath. She lifted her head. “Where is it?”
“Conservation Boy Scout had a five-gallon snake container in his truck,” Ryan said. “Along with the snake lasso and hook.”
“I’ll take it out someplace tomorrow and release it. That was my original plan anyway,” Frank said grimly.
Savannah gasped.
“So it was…” Nicky gulped and closed her eyes.
“Yeah. The same rattlesnake PJ and I pulled from the park today and left at the fire station. Same size, same markings, same broken rattle.”
Ryan stuck his hands in his back pockets. “I called the firehouse. Snake’s gone. Caused quite a panic for a few minutes.” He smiled. “No one believed me when I told them Nicky got ‘blessed’ with it.”
“Funny,” Nicky said and extended her hand to Frank.
He helped her up and steadied her when she wobbled, hands curled around her waist above her belt. Eyes closed, she laid her forehead on his shoulder for a moment, before she pulled back and searched his face.
“Thanks, partner.”
“Anytime. Partner.” He smiled. “Now go and have Savannah check to make sure you didn’t get bitten,” he ordered gruffly.
“I didn’t get bitten. I’d know by now,” Nicky said. Frank’s mouth flattened, but before he could speak, she turned to Ryan. “What’d you find?” She walked to her unit. The doors were open and the interior light fell harshly onto the ground.
“See the large container in the backseat? The snake was there. It’s just a crudely painted boot box, but it did the trick.” Ryan dangled a length of twine from his fingers. “Whoever did this probably wrapped the box up, untied it after delivery. The lid wasn’t tight or anything. The snake pushed it open and dropped to the floor.”
“It could have been buzzing like crazy, but with all the noise of the ceremony, especially the gourd rattles, no one would have been suspicious,” Frank said. “The cold settled it for a while. But when the truck warmed up…”
Nicky shuddered and Savannah slid an arm around her waist. She leaned into her.
“Anything else?” Frank asked.
“You mean like a written confession?” Ryan said. “Nah. That would be too easy. As to who did it, my first guess would be Janet Stone. That woman’s sick in the head and she hates Nicky because her husband still wants her.” Frank scowled. “There were other gifts from each of the war chiefs. A couple of small pots, a corn husk doll, a bear fetish. But…” He reached into the truck and pulled out a small black and white clay box. “You were obviously very blessed tonight, and not only because Frank here expertly extracted the rattlesnake.” Ryan opened the box with a flourish. “Looks like someone left you a flash drive, Nicky.”
Nicky’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”
Frank’s jaw clenched. He held out his hand. “I’ll take it.”
Ryan’s lips twisted into a smile, but his eyes were cool. He curled his fingers around the drive, dropped his arm to his side, and shook his head. “Nicky?”
“No, Frank. Not unless—”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she jerked, heart hammering. She’d change that to something less rattlesnake-like as soon as she could. Nicky tugged it out and stared at the screen. “Son of a—Would you look at this?” She handed her phone to Frank.
“‘Saw you at the blessing, but you didn’t see me,’” he read out loud. “‘Touched you at the blessing, but you didn’t touch me. Left you a gift in your car.’ There’s a happy face icon followed by…” His brow creased. “Flamin’ Hot Fritos?”
Savannah let Nicky go and stepped behind her back. “Ugh. You have powder all over your jacket.” She lifted her arm. “And it’s rubbed off on me.”
Nicky yanked her jacket off and held it up to the light. Handprints and blue streaks decorated the waist.
“Who sent this?” Frank held out the phone.
“Hot Fritos,” Nicky said, “is Howard Kie.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nicky cradled the mug in her hands, eyes gritty with tiredness, even after a shower. At least she had fresh clothes. After the excitement of last night, she’d ended up staying at Savannah’s, secretly glad they’d agreed to wait until morning to open the flash drive. Nothing had kept her from sleep—she was out when her head hit the pillow.
All her good intentions about protecting her friends had been erased by the presence of the snake in her truck. Maybe it had been some kind of sick joke, but she couldn’t take that chance. She’d come to a decision.
Savannah sat with her laptop open, the Albuquerque Journal’s banner across
the top of her screen. Nicky breathed in the fragrant scent of coffee and took a sip, hoping it would settle the knot in her stomach.
The men arrived together as the sky pinkened with dawn. Frank had stayed at Ryan’s place down the street and looked rough. He rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Ryan doesn’t own a razor.”
“Don’t need one.” Ryan shrugged. “Indian blood.”
“Snake?” asked Nicky. She shuddered dramatically and tucked her bare feet onto the couch.
“We let it loose earlier, far away from here,” Frank replied with a half smile. At the counter, he stacked a fresh biscuit-and-sausage sandwich. He took a bite as he poured his coffee. “Savannah, how come some man hasn’t taken you off the market yet? These biscuits are amazing.” His eyes glinted teasingly.
Ryan munched his food and looked away.
Savannah peeked over the screen with a smile. “Stop being so sexist, Frank. Everyone ready?” They gathered around the computer and she pushed the drive into the USB port. “Look. It’s labeled ‘Sandra’s stuff,’” she said. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about that Hot Fritos message from last night. The flash drive has to be Howard’s gift—not the snake. He knew Sandra, right?”
“I used his message to text him back about it. He hasn’t replied.” Nicky stared down at her coffee and let out a long breath. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you, didn’t want to burden you. But if that snake was a threat…” She raised her face. “Whoever did that might go after you next, if only because of me. You know I asked Julie Knuteson to review Sandra Deering’s autopsy.” Her gaze flickered to Frank. He watched her closely. “Well, she found something. Turns out, Sandra didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered.”
Savannah gasped. “Oh, dear God. Poor Sandra.” Tears started in her eyes. Ryan clasped her hand, his jaw tight, his gaze riveted on Nicky.
“How was she murdered?” Frank’s voice was flat.
“Her heart was removed before she was placed on the tracks.” Savannah sucked in another gasp and Ryan went gray. “David Saunders altered the autopsy and, most likely, the toxicology report. And now he’s disappeared. Until I actually speak with him, I can’t rule him out as a suspect in Sandra’s death.”
“This is why you received the visit from the ancient one,” Ryan murmured. “If Sandra’s heart was taken, her spirit is lost.”
Frank’s head jerked to look at him.
“Lost,” Nicky repeated. “That might also have been why she was murdered. She was doing a senior project on the lost or missing here at Fire-Sky for a journalism class at UNM.”
“About the ones you think are related to the per capita distribution checks,” Ryan said.
“What about the per capita distribution?” Frank asked.
“Fire-Sky Tribe members have to sign in every year to receive it.” Savannah slid her finger under her glasses to wipe her eye. “For many, on or off the reservation, it saves them financially. For the transients—the alcoholics or drug-addicted—it’s free blood money to feed their habits. When they don’t come back, no one ever thinks to ask why. No one ever wants to look for them or find them.” Her voice was strained. “Because we are ashamed of them. They perpetuate the stereotype.” She dropped her head.
Nicky laid a hand on her arm. It was obviously a difficult confession to make.
“That’s why I asked Savannah to find who had signed and picked up their checks the last few years. And who hasn’t,” Nicky said. “It would give us a place to start. But my captain and lieutenant made me close Sandra’s case.” She twisted her lips. “They know nothing about any of this and if they find out I’m still poking around, I could get suspended or even fired. Besides the fact that I have no hard evidence.” She pointed to the computer. “Unless Sandra gives us some clues.”
Frank crossed his arms over his chest. “Then open it. Maybe we’ll get the evidence we need.”
“Frank, any information in this flash drive is already compromised,” Nicky said softly.
He kept his gaze on the screen, his face blank. Finally, he gave a curt nod.
Savannah clicked on the icon and dozens of files came up. “Sandra had the distribution lists, too, but she scanned them in, along with the actual signatures.”
Nicky pointed to a file titled “Lost.” “Open that one.”
A list popped up with a couple dozen names. There were annotations beside each.
“She’s eliminated some of them. See?” Savannah tapped the screen. “‘Henry Melendrez—66. d. 12/14 home.’”
“I worked that case. He wasn’t sixty-six, though. He was ninety-seven years old and died of natural causes,” Nicky said.
“I don’t think that number is their age. See? ‘Jeremy Alonzo—90. d.’ It must mean something else,” Ryan said.
Savannah scrolled down the list. “There are still close to twenty people here who are unaccounted for.”
“Did you get the PCD spreadsheets from the tribal database? Can you cross-check Sandra’s list and look for new names?” Nicky pulled out her phone and grimaced at the time. “I have to leave for work in less than an hour. What else do you see?”
Savannah opened the other folders. “There’s nothing else here.”
Nicky took a deep breath. “I have something more you need to know. A couple of things, really. The first is something Dax told me last week when I met him in Santa Fe.” She flashed Frank a quick glance. His face darkened before his expression went blank again. “He gave me some very disturbing information. He said the reason the FBI is undercover on the rez is because they think Fire-Sky Natives are being targeted by a serial killer.”
They all stared at her in stunned silence.
“Dammit, Nicky! How could you withhold that information from us?” Savannah fumed.
“Do you believe him?” Ryan asked.
“Yes. He’s been a reliable source in the past,” she admitted. “The Bureau thinks there’s a connection between Sandra’s death and the murders of Maryellen K’aishuni and Vernon Cheromiah.”
“So the FBI knows Sandra was murdered? How?” Ryan asked.
“David Saunders may have been on the lookout for suspicious deaths. A missing heart would qualify,” Nicky replied dryly. “My timeline shows the undercover agents were in place within two weeks of her murder.”
“How do you know all this?” Frank asked.
Nicky shot him another glance. “Sources. Dax only confirmed it.” She would give nothing more away unless he confessed to his role. She was deeply disappointed he hadn’t already.
“So are these missing tribal members on Sandra’s list the killer’s victims? Have they been murdered, too?” Savannah’s voice rose. “Why? Why were they chosen? I don’t understand any of this.”
“I don’t know yet,” Nicky replied. She dragged a hand through her hair. “Maybe they were easy victims because of their lifestyle. Like you said, no one really worries about them. They could go missing for a long time before their families notice or care.” She walked to the sink to rinse out her cup and collect her thoughts. “It goes without saying this information can’t get out.” She looked at each one of them. “I’m very sorry to burden you with this. Very sorry. But I have no one else to tell who would believe me. Especially without evidence.”
“Who do you think put the rattlesnake in your car? Janet Stone?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t think it was actually her. If she hired someone to harass me, maybe. But it must have been spur-of-the-moment, because the only people who knew about the snake were police, Conservation, and fire personnel. I think we saw who did it, didn’t we, Frank? The guy with the shaking rattle. It was a direct taunt, a challenge. I hate it when criminals think they’re smarter than us. It’s like—”
“A puzzle you have to solve to prove them wrong,” Savannah finished.
Frank went to the sink to wash his mug. “You said you needed to tell us two things, Nicky. What was the other?”
“It’s also about David Saunders. Julie found
an unusual database on his computer. It contains thousands of DNA profiles, including a large number of tribal members from Fire-Sky.” She pulled a second flash drive out of her pocket and held it up, frustration coloring her voice. “I just don’t understand why.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Nicky tossed her keys on the desk and dropped into her chair. Work was slow. It always was after the Blessing Day. The traditional cops speculated the sacred dances and chants reminded tribe members that spirits watched their every move, so behaviors changed—at least for a few days. The nontraditional cops countered everyone was exhausted after weeks of preparation for both the DAP day fiesta and the blessing. Nicky figured it was a mix of both. She jiggled her mouse and waited for her computer to boot up. Might as well get some paperwork out of the way.
When the call for the domestic came in, she was tying up loose ends in the mini-mart break-in. She’d found the perps with good old-fashioned police work, interviewing friends and family of the teens who’d taken the bat to the plate-glass window. The boys didn’t have a record, so fingerprints and blood evidence had been a bust, but that wasn’t unusual. Indians didn’t do DNA. Her thoughts flashed to David Saunders’s database, wondering if the boys were included in it.
She’d picked up the signed arrest warrants at the courthouse and was driving out to one of the teen’s address when Dispatch called.
Hearts of the Missing Page 18
