Blackening Song (5 page)

“Clifford hasn’t agreed with Dad on anything, as far back as I can remember. And like Dad, he’s very blunt.”

Her mother smiled, but pain was clearly mirrored in her eyes. “You were always close to your father, disagreeing with Clifford and everything he stood for. But
now your brother will need your support, and maybe your help. Can you set aside your differences?”

Ella started to answer when she heard the sound of a vehicle driving up. Glancing outside, she saw the tribal police Jeep park near the front of the house. Blalock threw open the passenger door and started up the path. Police Chief Clah, respecting the Navajo custom not to approach a dwelling until
invited, hung back. Ella saw him gesture, trying to get Blalock to return, but Blalock didn’t even slow down.

Ella glanced at her mother. “It’s my father-in-law. He’s brought Agent Blalock, the Anglo investigating father’s death. Blalock is a little hard to take…”

“The man and his habits are well known, especially in this household. Don’t worry. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years,
it’s patience.”

“You’ll need it with this guy.” Ella tried to hide her distaste as Blalock approached the front door. He peered at her through the screen. “I’d like to come in and talk to your mother.”

“She’s here.” Ella beckoned him and Randall Clah in.

Rose nodded at the men. “Make yourselves comfortable.” They perched on the couch.

Blalock turned to Ella. “I’d like to talk to your mother
alone.”

“Really? Well, we don’t always get what we want,” Ella answered calmly.

Clah’s mouth twitched, but the smile in his eyes never quite reached his lips. “We want to know where your son is, Mrs. Destea,” the Navajo police chief said softly. “We hope you can help us.”

“I can’t,” Rose answered flatly.

“You must have some idea where he could be found,” Blalock insisted. “Ma’am, the longer
he stays at large, the worse off he’s going to be. We
will
catch him, and once the courts are told how he tried to elude justice—”

“One second,” Ella interjected. “Are you assuming Clifford killed our father?” She gave him an incredulous look. “You are out of your mind.”

Blalock shot her an icy glance. “He ran from the police when they went to question him. And dozens of witnesses heard him
threaten your father. He vowed to stop your father from building his church on Navajo land.”

“So what? They argued all the time. So do lots of other fathers and sons. You have no case.”

“There are other things.”

“Like what?”

“You’re not an attorney, and I don’t have to present my evidence to you. You were instructed not to interfere, Agent Clah. I suggest you remember that.”

Ella turned to
her father-in-law. “You and I have had our differences. That’s no reason for you to allow him to come in here and treat my mother with so little respect.”

Clah held her gaze for a long moment. “This has nothing to do with you and me.”

“I wish you’d remember that,” she shot back.

Blalock held up one hand. “Hey, I’m trying to question someone here, okay? Drop the family discussion.” He turned
to Rose. “Apparently your son has some radical religious beliefs that have made him enemies among the Christian community.”

“Not as many as you’ve already made,” Rose answered calmly. “I know about you, Agent Blalock, and I won’t answer any more questions. Please leave my house.”

“Obstructing justice is a crime, Mrs. Destea.”

Randall Clah stood up and grabbed Blalock’s arm. “A moment with you,
please,” he said in a low voice and took Blalock aside.

Ella watched the two men standing at the far side of the room. Clah’s voice was too soft for her to hear, but his eyes flashed with cold fire. Ella puzzled for a moment about her mother’s comment to Blalock. What did she know about him? Earlier, Peterson had alluded to something involving the agent. Navajos were slow to anger, but remembered
their enemies forever. Ella made a mental note to ask about Blalock at the first opportunity.

As Ella seated herself beside her mother, her gaze settled on the framed snapshot on the coffee table. It showed her father in a T-shirt, basketball under one arm. It had been taken during a Fourth of July picnic. Good times like that were elusive memories now. The ghastly image of her father’s corpse
remained in her mind, obliterating everything else.

As she tried to banish it, something niggled at her memory, a vague impression of a conversation she’d had with Clifford a long time ago, like a name that hung at the tip of your tongue. He’d mentioned skinwalkers, Navajo witches, but she couldn’t remember the specifics. Navajos never discussed the subject openly, and at the time she’d wanted
nothing more than to forget what he’d said.

When Blalock turned back toward them, his manner was less abrasive. “Mrs. Destea, I know both you and your husband are well thought of in this community. But Clifford must turn himself in; it’s the best chance he’s got. If you see or hear from him, will you call us?”

“If it’s the right thing to do at the time.”

Ella had to give him credit; Blalock
was good enough at his job to know when he was being stonewalled. He glanced at Ella and cocked his head, motioning for her to follow him outside.

She went out to the porch with him. “You’re using the wrong approach, Blalock, and you’ve apparently had that problem for some time. Change your attitude, or you’ll get so lost you won’t be able to find your butt with both hands and a full-length mirror.”

“I don’t need your advice, or your bullshit. What I want is information. Is your brother into witchcraft?”

It took all her willpower not to punch him for that. “My brother is a
hataalii,
a medicine man. What you’re suggesting is unspeakably obscene.”

“All I know is that he’s acquired quite a following, and that he’s reputed to have some vague supernatural powers. I heard one of the tribal cops
on the case muttering about witchcraft, but he wouldn’t elaborate. I don’t believe in that crock, and I know you don’t either. I’ve looked into your background. You’re a no-nonsense, show-me-results agent. So let’s cut the mysticism crap and get down to basics.
A
—Reverend Destea is killed in some ritualistic fashion.
B
—your brother ran from the cops.
C
—coincidentally your brother is a self-styled
mystic who opposes everything your father stood for. That all adds up to
D
—Clifford is our most likely suspect. Now where is he?”

“I have no idea.”

“When you find out, and I have no doubt you will, I want you to call me. If he’s innocent, he’s jeopardizing our chances of catching the real murderer.”

“As you’ve pointed out to me, I’m not here as an agent. Now it seems you want me to do some
investigating for you. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about having me involved?”

“And countermand my supervisors? Forget it, lady. I have my career to think about. If I can solve this case, I might finally get transferred out of this wasteland. If you block me in any way, I’ll see you spend the next decade sharpening pencils in some jurisdiction even worse than this one.”

“Don’t threaten
me, Blalock. Ever. You don’t outrank me, and it’s extremely unlikely you ever will.”

He held her gaze. “Don’t stand in my way. Ever.”

He strode off and joined Clah by the Jeep. Ella waited until they were out of sight, then stepped back inside.

Her mother was absently tracing the pattern of the fabric on the arm of the sofa with her index finger. “They just don’t understand. Clifford and your
father have been arguing for years. If your father said the grass was green, Clifford claimed he was color blind. It meant nothing. Although their beliefs were radically different, both of them saw violence as repugnant. Murder—unspeakable.”

“Don’t let Blalock upset you. He doesn’t know enough about our culture or our family. But he’s going after Clifford, so I have to find him first, Mom. Help
me, please. Tell me what you know.”

“Where do your loyalties lie?” Rose watched her daughter carefully.

“With those of us who’ve been robbed of someone we love. Whoever killed dad will pay for it.”

“And will you believe all that that Anglo tells you? He’d have you arrest your own brother.”

“I know Clifford isn’t guilty of murder, but he must have knowledge of the crime or he wouldn’t be hiding.
Maybe he can give me some leads.” She paused, searching for a way to make her mother understand. “What scares me is that I think he’s going to try to handle this on his own. That’ll be a big mistake.”

“I agree with you. I suspect the same thing. But I still can’t help you. Clifford didn’t say where he was going, probably because he was afraid I might tell you.”

“Mom, none of this makes sense.
My brother fears no one. He’s never run away from a confrontation in his life.” She shook her head slowly. “He knows his influence here on the Rez is considerable. They couldn’t railroad him even if they wanted to.”

“Clifford may not be thinking right,” Rose answered slowly. “He’s still unsettled by the loss of his son.”

Ella nodded. She had heard the news a month ago, and had called to comfort
Clifford. The child, his first, had been stillborn.

“That very nearly broke him, and his wife hasn’t been the same since. In a way, I think Loretta blames him, but he did everything he could. He used all the knowledge he possessed as a
hataalii
to ensure the safety of his child.” Her mother stared out the window at the mesa as if answers could be found there. “It wasn’t enough.”

“How good was
the clinic where Loretta delivered?” Ella asked pointedly.

Rose’s gaze turned hard. “Pride would not have kept Clifford from seeking the best medical help for his child. You should know that. But the last few months of pregnancy were hard on Loretta. Nobody was able to do anything.”

Ella leaned back in the chair, trying to focus her thinking. Clifford had used all his beliefs and prayers to
help his wife and unborn child, yet still he had failed. That blow struck at the very roots of everything he was. “I thought he had put the hurt aside by now.”

“No one blamed Clifford at first. He’d done what the progressives believed was necessary, taking Loretta to the hospital for prenatal checks. He’d also used our ceremonies and done all that the traditionalists expected. He was very careful
not to make any mistakes in our rituals. But then, some very ugly rumors began to spread about him.” Her mother’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “Do you remember anything about skinwalkers?”

Ella blinked, taken by surprise to hear her mother broach the subject. “They’re evil witches. They wear the hide of a coyote or wolf and they’re supposed to be able to transform themselves into the animal.
That’s how they got their name. But what’s this got to do with Clifford?”

“One way for a person to become a skinwalker is to sacrifice a relative.”

FOUR

Ella tried to hide her emotions, walking over to the window and looking outside so her mother wouldn’t see her face. Heat shimmered in waves over the sand, rocks, and sage that stretched out to the late-afternoon horizon. Her mom’s old mutt was lying by the side of the house fast asleep, oblivious to the chaos those around him were experiencing.

“I can’t believe that anyone made such a
vile, stupid accusation about my brother. Who’s responsible for starting that gossip, do you know?”

“We tried to find out, but it turned out to be impossible to trace,” Rose answered.

“Clifford’s a
hataalii.
He’s supposed to be our tribe’s best defense against witches.”

“
Is
—not ‘is supposed to be,’” Rose countered sternly. “That accusation was meant to undermine him. They started that story
after the loss of his child, when he was the most vulnerable!” Anger swept through Rose like a flash flood in a narrow arroyo, and she took several deep breaths.

“A good tactic on their part,” Ella admitted. “Who had the most to gain by undermining him?”

“These skinwalkers have covered themselves well. I can’t even guess.” Rose covered her face with one hand. “Clifford is a strong man. He kept
his hurt inside him, but the baby’s death almost finished Loretta. She lost her son, then began to hear that her husband had caused the tragedy.” Overwhelmed by emotion, Rose fell silent, clasping her hands together tightly.

“Is that why Clifford is hiding? Have others become so afraid of him that they are threatening his life?” Ella started sorting through possible motives.

Rose shook her head.
“Your brother is afraid of no man. He has many friends and followers. They believe him. He knows that.”

Ella turned from the window and joined her mother on the sofa. “Then something else must have frightened him.” She lapsed into a thoughtful silence. “Could it be somehow linked to the death of his child?”

“Possibly, but that’s one connection you may never be able to see.”

“Why not?”

“You
never paid attention to what I taught you of our people’s beliefs, so even if it stares you in the face, you may not know, or believe enough, to realize it.”

“You’d be surprised how much I remember. I may not believe in it, like Clifford and you, but what counts is knowing the way he thinks, and what actions he’ll take because of it.”

“Spoken like a
bilagáana.
” Her mother smiled, her eyes eagle
sharp as they rested on Ella. “Daughter, you may be fooling others, but not me. You’re afraid of exactly the same things Clifford is: evils that resist control. In the world you’ve chosen to live in, those evils are easily defined. Here, that’s not always so. But in your own ways, both you and your brother are committed to restoring harmony. And neither of you would ever betray the trust others
place in you. You have more in common with your brother than you think.”

Ella bit back her response, but denied the accusation hotly in her mind. Her brother certainly had abilities, some would say gifts. He would walk into a room and instantly become the center of attention. Like a master politician and a magician rolled into one, he could become anything to the people around him. Many thought
he possessed real magic. Ella knew it was just insight and charisma, and craftiness. She’d seen it all before, especially in con men and charismatic preachers, but it was a striking talent nevertheless.