Blackening Song (22 page)

Bessie walked out. Ella said
to Wilson, “Is she always like that, or do I bring it out in her?”

Wilson chuckled. “She’s always like that. Plus you bring out her fighting instincts. With your family involved on both sides of the issues, people have been speculating on where you stand. She was looking for answers.”

“I wasn’t being evasive—that really is my position. I feel very strongly about the people’s right to choose.”

Wilson shrugged. “Even so, you’re hedging. If one side
had
to take precedence over the other, which would you support?”

Ella met his gaze. “I’d be starting a third group, and insisting that all parties involved reach a compromise. Don’t you see? I
really
don’t favor one over the other. What I do favor is the right to free choice.”

“You
really
should think about it and decide whether building—or
not building—the college and church better suits the needs of the tribe. Making that decision will help you keep things in focus.” Wilson placed the books Bessie had brought on the bookshelf. “Like you, I’ve lived in both worlds for many years. My heart is with the old ways, but I know we need the new to survive as a people. You have to find your own balance point. As far as I can tell, you haven’t.”

“I choose not to choose. Since I don’t live here, I don’t feel it’s my right to interfere. Besides, it’ll help me keep my objectivity throughout this investigation.”

“Maybe it’s easier for me to take a stand, since whatever happens affects me directly. Working with the students has also helped me focus my thinking.” He paused, gave her a long, speculative look, then continued, “I’m giving an
orientation workshop this afternoon for incoming students. Why don’t you stay? You can be a guest speaker. You’re a prime example of the range of educational and employment possibilities open to our people these days.”

“But I don’t have anything prepared,” she said, surprised by his request.

“Have you done any public speaking?”

She nodded. “The bureau encourages their agents to take an active
part in community affairs. I’ve given talks at high schools and community centers.”

“This won’t be that different. It’s very informal. If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can summarize your academic background and then turn it into a question-and-answer session.”

There was no graceful way to decline, not after all the help he’d given her. Even if he intended to put her on the spot, she
could turn it to her advantage. Radical groups often recruited from students, and this would give her a chance to meet some of them. “I’ll give it my best shot,” she agreed, hoping the time would fly by.

*   *   *

Ella watched Wilson closely as he gave his opening remarks. She envied the way he positioned himself in both the progressive and traditional worlds. What surprised her most was that
he seemed comfortable everywhere. He’d learned to live with the differences, without compromising his own views.

“In conclusion,” Wilson said, “education is necessary to protect and preserve the old—language, culture, and religion—and keep it a living part of our modern world. As a service to our community, Special Agent Clah has consented to speak to us today. She’s made the most of the grants
and scholarships our tribe offers, using them to help achieve her goals and contribute a life of service.”

Ella glanced at the group of thirty incoming freshmen. She synopsized her education and all her training to become an agent. Then she opened the floor to questions.

“Members of your own family are in a great deal of trouble,” one young Navajo man said slowly. “Will you use your connections
as a law enforcement officer to help them?” The noise in the room stilled, and Ella could hear people breathing.

The unexpected question threw her momentarily, but she quickly recovered. “If I could, I probably would, but that’s just not the way it works. I’m officially prohibited from being involved in the investigation. My interest is personal, and not a part of my duties as an FBI agent.”

“Many believe that your brother is the key to the problems the area around the new college has been having.” The young woman speaking looked at the others as she spoke. “Deformed animals are being born, and troubles plague the community near there. Would you bring him in, if you knew where he was?”

Ella glanced at Wilson; he returned her look calmly. Clearly this was her show as far as he was
concerned. Good—because she intended to respond to the challenge these kids were issuing. “I’d be legally bound to take some action, like anyone else in this room. But I wouldn’t make such an arrest myself. As I said, I’m not working this case. I’m here as a private citizen.”

“Are your loyalties to the bureau greater than those you feel for the Dineh?” another co-ed asked.

“The two don’t conflict,”
she answered. “The bureau is an investigative service, which serves the People as well as others.”

“How does your being a federal agent help the tribe? Isn’t it a form of disloyalty to use tribal scholarships to get an education that will benefit those outside the Rez more than us?”

“Our ways teach that everything is interrelated; one event always affects another. What I do outside the Rez isn’t
separate from what happens here; it’s all part of the balance,” Ella said, a bit surprised by the tack the student had taken. The room grew silent.

“Thanks for talking to us, Agent Clah,” Wilson said, taking the opportunity to step forward. Ella went to the back of the classroom and waited while Wilson finished his lecture. Finally he directed the group to adjacent rooms, to speak with other
professors. When the students had all left, Wilson came toward Ella, hands spread apologetically.

“It wasn’t my intention, but your session turned out to be a trial by fire,” he commented ruefully. “That deserves at least a soft drink on the house,” he added with a wry smile.

“I accept. My mouth has definitely gone dry.”

They went down the hall to the faculty lounge. Although the room was barely
the size of a large closet, it looked comfortable, filled with worn, thickly padded easy chairs and a threadbare sofa. A large window faced the river, framing a vista of the small fields lining the old flood plain of the San Juan River. Above the valley, dry mesas stretched beyond sight into the clear sky.

Wilson handed her a can of soda from a vending machine, then sat beside her on the sofa.
“You did an excellent job with the students. I really didn’t expect them to ask those kinds of questions, but I figured it’d do more harm than good if I asked them to change the topic.”

“I agree.”

“But you handled it beautifully. You were completely calm and in control.”

Ella shook her head and averted her gaze. “No, that’s not true. I’ve learned to project confidence, my own brand of illusion.
Underneath, I was really nervous. Of course, a person does her best dodging when under fire.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” Wilson laughed. “But truly, you spoke very well.”

“I envy your students—or maybe I should say I envy their outlooks on life. Things seem to be more black and white to them.”

“That’s the way it usually is when you’re young and idealistic. You have all the answers … if only
someone would listen,” he observed.

“You know, not many people around here would have asked me to talk to any group of Navajos. Most seem to want to disassociate themselves from me. You’re one of the few who have made me feel at home since the day I returned.”

“I’ll stand by you and your family, no matter what lies ahead. You can count on that.” Wilson smiled.

Ella took a sip of her cola. Bessie
Tso walked into the lounge, shaking her head. “More bad news,” Bessie said. “Have you heard?”

“What’s happened?” Wilson asked quickly.

Bessie clicked her teeth indignantly, then sighed. “Two people have reported seeing someone wearing animal skins hanging around the college construction site.”

“Who reported it?”

“I’m not sure—I heard the story from my sister. She says that when the tribal
police went out, all they found were several disemboweled sheep.”

Ella managed to look calm and professional, though her throat had gone dry again. “Where exactly?”

Bessie gave her simple directions. “Are you going out there to look?”

“That’s right.”

Wilson stood up. “I’m finished here for the day. I’ll go with you.”

Bessie looked at him skeptically. “Be careful what you rush into,” she warned,
then left the lounge.

“She’s right,” Ella said. “There’s no need for you to come along on something this unpleasant. If there are answers to be found there, I’ll spot them.”

“You sure?” Wilson asked. “There are things people won’t say to cops.”

“There are also things my special training helps me spot that someone else may not consider. Thanks for offering, though.” Ella walked away before he
could answer.

THIRTEEN

Ella arrived at the site a little past four-thirty. Seeing two squad cars ahead, she drove up and parked about fifty feet from them. She noted with relief that the sun was still high in the west. She didn’t relish the thought of trying to investigate a site like this after sundown.

As she approached the raw circle of earth that had been cleared of vegetation, she saw Peterson studying
the carcass of one of the mutilated animals. Blood and low, black heaps of entrails stained the sand.

Spotting Ella, Peterson rose to his feet and went over to join her. “You want a look?”

“If it’s okay with you.”

“Sure. We’re covered. Jim Goodluck won’t carry tales back to the office.”

Ella stepped carefully around the gate and crouched next to the slaughtered sheep. “These tracks leading
over here, they look like a wolf’s, but there’s something odd about them. The stride is all wrong.”

“Yeah, the wolf would have had to be walking on his hind legs,” he answered.

Ella studied them carefully. “That’s what I was thinking. Someone has done a great job faking this to look like—”

“Skinwalkers,” he interrupted softly. “The story’s going to get around now. No telling what harm it’s
going to do.”

“People who’re afraid are capable of doing some damned bizarre things,” Ella agreed. “Whoever is behind this is clever, using crowd psychology. Isn’t there any way to keep this quiet?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “You haven’t been away
that
long. News and gossip fly faster than a laser beam on the Rez.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Any idea who might be behind this?”

“No, that’s
the worst of it. We don’t have a clue except what you see here. The other incidents have been similar. People are already looking at their neighbors funny and speculating about those they don’t like. We’re in for a lot of trouble.”

“Someone must know
something,
” Ella commented, glancing at the residential community a mile away. “The tracks lead in that direction.”

“Right. And should we canvass
the people there? That’s going to get us nowhere. No one is going to talk to us about something like this.”

“You have to try.”

“We intend to, but we have our own ways of working—you know that. We’ll talk to people later, unofficially. Ask questions. Mostly listen. That’s our way—the only way that’s going to work. It might take longer than your methods, but your methods won’t work at all.”

“Blalock does know about this, doesn’t he?” she asked, glancing around.

“He’s not coming. According to him, dead animals aren’t a priority. Killing sheep isn’t a federal offense. He said he’d read our report when we return to the station.”

Ella sighed. “He really should be out here. Too many things like this have happened lately for it to be mere coincidence.”

“I think Blalock is spending too
much time sending us to do his job while he sits at a desk and calls the shots.”

Ella smiled. “Has he alienated everyone at the department in the couple of years he’s been here?”

Peterson nodded. “You know how hard your father-in-law is to read? Well, when Blalock’s around, that’s no problem. The chief’s face changes color every time FB-Eyes enters his office. It’s like a thermometer.”

“From
what I’ve heard, Blalock’s had major problems with the tribe. My mother told me about his breaking one young man’s arm, but talking about it upset her a great deal. What can you tell me about that incident?”

Peterson glanced around to reassure himself they were alone. “Things were really tense around here for a while after that. Your father based a sermon on what had happened, asking for community
restraint but demanding that FB-Eyes be held accountable. One of the tribal newspaper reporters heard about the sermon and did a story on it. Your brother took your father’s side, and was quoted in the article, asking for Blalock’s badge. By the time the smoke cleared, FB-Eyes had been raked across the coals more than once.”

“So Blalock had it in for both my father
and
my brother,” Ella concluded.

“In a big way. I wouldn’t trust the man. It would suit him just fine to arrest one for the murder of the other. Proving that one of his main attackers was a murderer might improve Blalock’s standing with the regional office and earn him a chance out of here, which he badly wants,” Peterson advised.

“An interesting angle. Thanks for filling me in.” It didn’t mesh with her own assessment of Blalock,
but she had no reason to dismiss it out of hand. It was worth checking into.

Ella caught a glimpse of someone standing in the shade of a cottonwood tree, hidden in the shadows—Eddie Buck, a man she’d gone to school with. She decided not to seek him out until Yazzie and the other officer left.

“Come on,” Peterson said. “While Goodluck talks to the construction people, let’s follow the tracks.
With both of us tracking, we might see something he missed.”

It was a pointless exercise. The tracks led into a ravine and just disappeared.

“This person sure knows how to hide his tracks,” Peterson commented. “I’m almost certain he scooped up sand with his hand, then threw it over most of the tracks he’d made.”