Blackening Song (17 page)

Wilson pushed
aside the second curtain. Like the first, it was made of an old flour sack, opened along its seams. Just past it, the tunnel expanded into a rounded, cavernous area about twelve feet high and twenty feet across. Ashes from a small fire pit were still visible, and strange dark markings on the hard-packed floor of the cave were crisscrossed with sacred pollen. Clifford had also been here recently,
it appeared. The chamber seemed unnaturally cold. The intense chill pierced her marrow and left her feeling violated and somehow soiled.

“They were there,” Wilson said in a hushed whisper, indicating a half circle that flanked the opening. Hollowed-out, sandy impressions on the ground suggested the cave had been used quite frequently. “About a dozen or so of them, naked. They were singing. The
sound was monotonous and off-key, but rhythmic and compelling in an odd way. I mean, it
made
you listen.”

“You recognize anyone?” Ella asked, hoping for a name.

“A girl, about twenty years old, right on the other side of the fire. Her name was Allison Begay. She had a reputation for sleeping around. I guess it’s natural that I remember her—naked and all. The others were hunched over, their faces
in shadow. But to be honest, Clifford and Pete and I were all looking at Allison.” Wilson scratched his head, as if trying to remember more. “It happened so long ago, and we never talked about it, not to anybody.”

“How come they didn’t see you?” she asked. The curtain was so light, it was almost transparent. Then again, perhaps the years had made it threadbare.

“No one looked up. They were all
staring at a feather on the ground.” His voice dropped even more. “It was dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“What else would you call it?” Wilson challenged. “It was standing on end, moving up and down.” He shuddered, then forced his body to become still. When he continued, his voice was flat and unemotional. “We heard them say that as long as it was upright, the skinwalker out in the night was still alive.
If it fell, it meant he was dead.”

“What happened then?”

“One of them—Allison, in fact”—Wilson laughed shortly—“finally looked up and saw us.” He gestured back down the tunnel. “Come on. I’ll tell you the rest once we’re back outside.”

She wasn’t going to argue with him. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to be out in the open, taking in lungfuls of clean air. He’d certainly
picked a prime spot for spooky storytelling. The larger cavern, instead of reducing her feeling of confinement, had actually made it worse. The air was still and heavy. She’d had to continually fight the feeling that she was slowly suffocating. Forcing her breathing to remain even, she followed Wilson back to the surface.

When she finally felt the sun on her face, she sighed in relief. “It’s
hideous down there.”

“It’s more than the enclosure. There’s something disgusting about going deep inside the earth to conduct profane ceremonies.”

She nodded in complete agreement. As far as she was concerned, it was disgusting to go there for any reason. “Tell me what happened after they saw you.”

Wilson quickened his steps back to the truck, as if he wanted to outrun the memories by leaving
the area as soon as possible. “They saw your brother first. He was ahead of me, and Paul was behind. Clifford said something I couldn’t make out, and suddenly the skinwalkers stopped. They were still for only a few precious seconds, but, fortunately, that was enough to help us escape. We ran and ran, and finally ended up at Fred Benally’s hogan. He was there working for a patient.”

Benally was
the
hataalii
who’d instructed Clifford. “I know Clifford decided to become a Singer his senior year in high school. Was this incident with the skinwalkers the reason for it?”

Wilson considered it. “No, but I think it helped him define his own priorities. You see, the encounter scared both of us. Up till that time, neither of us had paid much attention to the stories about skinwalkers. We’d figured
that they were just a way to explain things like sickness and bad times.”

“Clifford never mentioned any of this to me.”

“He didn’t tell your father either. The only person who knew was your mother. She warned Clifford back then that his real battle with the skinwalkers was yet to be fought. That scared him. He made up his mind to develop all his skills, because he felt certain that someday his
life would depend on them. He told me that your mother didn’t usually get those feelings, but when she did, they could be counted on.”

The story surprised Ella. There was so much about her own family she’d never known. Raymond Destea’s love for the Christian religion had effectively discouraged open discussion on subjects that, in retrospect, should have been addressed in detail to clarify potential
choices. Customs that related to the native religion had never been quite clear to her.

Ella stole glances at Wilson as they journeyed back to his home. Although he wasn’t outwardly aggressive, he was as strong as Shiprock itself. It had obviously taken a great deal of courage for him to return here, but he hadn’t hesitated, knowing she’d need his help and guidance to understand the threat he
claimed they were facing. A man who stood by his words and actions was very rare. She wanted to believe Wilson was such a man.

“Paul said he and Loretta are being watched by the police. You better stay on the lookout too,” Ella warned. “Remember, if nothing else, you’re guilty of harboring a fugitive, and Blalock would have you arrested on that charge in an instant if he thought he could use
it to break this case open.”

“He’d do the same to you,” he countered.

“You bet. I’m more guilty. I’m violating the law I’ve sworn to uphold.”

“You’re being torn in two,” Wilson observed sadly. “I wish there had been some way to spare you that.”

“I have no regrets about my decisions. There are some loyalties that supersede even my allegiance to the letter of the law. But I’ll need your help
and Clifford’s cooperation to see that the spirit of the law is upheld, and that the ones who killed my father are caught and punished.”

He nodded once, but she couldn’t tell whether it was in acknowledgment or approval. Despite his honesty, Wilson was still an enigma to her. Every time he’d been with her, he had in effect tried to frighten her away from the investigation. Was Wilson sincerely
afraid for her, or was he literally using “scare tactics” to manipulate her?

Ella realized that she should have asked for a background check on Wilson too. She’d take care of that as soon as possible. She had a feeling Peterson would jump at the chance, but suspected Blalock would give a less biased report.

One thing was very clear. Whoever Ella asked to investigate Wilson Joe would have to
do it without his knowledge. He seemed to be, at least for now, one of her few allies, and she couldn’t afford to lose his trust or help.

TEN

When they got back to Wilson’s home, he offered Ella a glass of lemonade as they walked into the kitchen.

“I’d like that,” she said, glad for the coolness provided by the house’s thick adobe walls. Her mouth felt parched, partly from the fear that had threatened to overwhelm her back in the cavern and partly because of the three-digit temperatures outside. “Let me give you a hand.”

As he
brought out glasses, she pulled the pitcher from the fridge. They sat there in silence, comfortable enough with each other not to feel the need to talk. The day’s experiences and revelations had been exhausting.

Once Ella finished her drink, she stood and carried her glass to the sink. “It’s time for me to go. I have to check in with the police and see when they’re going to release my father’s
body. If they can’t give me a time, I’m going to have to start putting pressure on them.”

“Why don’t I follow you to the tribal police office? Maybe I can help out. I know some of the officers.”

The offer was tempting. Ella had no desire to have a confrontation of any kind with her father-in-law. Having Wilson there would keep the conversation on track, away from unresolved issues from the past.
But this was her responsibility, not Wilson’s, and she’d have to deal with it.

Randall and she had never agreed on much, that was certain. She’d been told by more than one relative that the chief had blamed her for his son’s enlistment. Randall Clah maintained Eugene had joined the army to impress Ella. There was no truth to it—Eugene had set his own goals in life, and he’d never worried about
impressing anyone. Ella had also heard that, extending his logic, Randall Clah held her partially responsible for the accident that had claimed Eugene’s life. After Ella had joined the bureau, the rift between them had widened even more.

“I appreciate your offer, but I need to do this myself,” Ella said. “I may have to get nasty and ugly, and you shouldn’t be associated with that. By now the
labs have done all the tests they need. I have a feeling Randall hasn’t released the body for other reasons.”

“Like what?”

“He’s against anything I do or want. That story goes back a long way,” she answered softly.

“I’ve heard,” he admitted.

Wilson followed her to her own vehicle and waved good-bye as she drove away. It was shortly after three when Ella pulled into the police station parking
lot.

Parking, Ella speculated for a moment, wondering if Randall should be considered a potential suspect. But what motive could he have had? His only tie with her family had died with Eugene. If ambition and control were driving factors for the skinwalkers, Randall certainly stood nothing to gain. As police chief, he was already top cop.

At the door, Ella practically collided with him.

Chief
Clah glared at her. “What are you doing here? I warn you, any more ‘misunderstandings’ like the one you pulled at the morgue and I’ll have you arrested.”

“I came to see you, Father-in-Law,” she answered flatly. Ella refused to allow herself to get angry, but she couldn’t resist annoying her stuffy father-in-law a little.

“What about? I don’t have the time to talk right now.”

“My father’s body.”

His expression changed from hostile to guarded. “I called Hector Silva earlier. He’ll bury your father if you want him placed in the Christian cemetery.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, surprised. “But thanks.” She meant it.

“I did it out of respect for your mother. I wanted to present her with solutions, not problems, when I called to tell her the body had been released.”

Ella had
expected a fight, been braced for one. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved by her effortless success. “Would it be all right with you if I went inside and used a telephone? I’d like to call home and make sure Mom’s okay.”

“Ask the officer at the front desk to let you use one of the lines there. Now I’ve got to go,” Randall snapped.

As Clah strode out the door, Peterson Yazzie
came down the hall; the trace of a smile on his face told Ella he had overheard. She shrugged and said, “I guess he’s used up all his civility for the year. At least I don’t have to wonder about how
he
feels about me.” Peterson almost laughed.

“You won’t have any privacy at the front desk. Use the phone in my office.” He led her to a tiny, windowless room. “Help yourself. I’ll wait out here in
the hall. Dial nine to get an outside line.”

Ella stepped inside. Yazzie’s office was no larger than a closet, but he’d obviously spent time making it personal. Achievement certificates hung on the wall, alongside commendations he’d received throughout his years on the force. There was a photo of him shaking the hand of the current tribal chairman. Another showed him at the All-Indian Rodeo,
standing near the state governor.

She’d been told how ambitious Peterson was, and these photos made that easy to believe. He had undoubtedly pressured the chief to get the office. Small or not, it was a mark of prestige. The department’s facilities were extremely limited. Her mother’s letters had often mentioned Peterson’s efforts to become chief of police. She’d wondered how her father-in-law
felt about that, especially because her own parents had always been quite close to Peterson.

Ella sat behind the desk and dialed home quickly. Then, assured her mother had handled the news of the release of Ella’s father’s body well, she opened the door. Peterson stepped into the office, half closing the door behind him.

“I haven’t been able to get any more background information on the people
you wanted.” He spoke quietly. “Your father-in-law has pulled the files on just about everyone who knew your father. If he catches me going through them, I’m history.”

“He doesn’t plan on working the case alone, does he?” Ella had heard that Randall Clah was a good cop, but it was felt that as chief of police he should be delegating more responsibility to his staff.

Peterson shrugged. “Don’t
worry, I’ll get a look at the files. The chief only locks his office when he leaves the station. Next time he’s here, as soon as I’m sure he’ll be away from his desk for a little while, I’ll borrow the files. Ten minutes, and I’ll have copies for you.” Peterson was whispering. Hearing footsteps in the hall, he cleared his throat to warn Ella. The radio dispatcher, a young Navajo woman in her early
twenties, walked past. She gave Peterson a big smile and didn’t seem to notice Ella at all.

“Silva has retrieved my father’s body from the morgue,” Ella said in a normal tone. “Reverend Williamson will say a prayer as they inter the body.”

*   *   *

When Ella arrived home, Wilson was waiting on the front porch, and Rose was tending her garden. As Ella came up the walk, Wilson stood and nodded
a greeting.

Ella returned the nod. She said quietly, “It’s my duty to gather some of my father’s possessions so they can be buried with him.”

“I’ll drive you and your mother to the church grounds. That’s why I came over here.”

Ella wasn’t surprised that Wilson knew about the release of her father’s body, but his offer of a ride did surprise her. Attending a graveside service was something few
Navajos did willingly. But she refused to become suspicious of Wilson. She needed the support. Even her mother had declined to be present; her own beliefs made different requirements of her.