Blackening Song (7 page)

“I know.” Ella finished the last of the stew and set the plate aside. The food had revitalized her. “If you talk to FB-Eyes, maybe he’ll see that he’s wasting time looking for my brother while the real killer escapes.”

“Then I’ll speak to him,” Loretta said, her eyes tired.

Her brother’s head snapped around and he glared at the women. “You’re going to invite him
in? He’s not your husband’s friend. He believes all the lies planted by our enemies.”

“No,” Ella countered in a soft voice. “He’s after the truth, like I am. But to find it, he has to recognize the right trail. That often means taking a wrong turn now and then.” She watched the heavy-set Navajo man, with his short-cropped jet black hair, measure her words.

Making up his mind at last, he shook
his head, then turned to Loretta. “Little sister, you shouldn’t speak to this man. He’ll only make things much worse for all of us.”

Loretta turned to her grandmother, who sat quietly, staring toward the entrance. They were avoiding the use of names in accordance with tradition. Names had power, and to use them often would wear them out.

Loretta shifted her gaze back to Ella. “If I have you
invite FB-Eyes in, you’ll be responsible for his behavior. Do you accept that?”

Ella nodded. “Before I call him,
do
you know where my brother is?”

“No, of course not. He would never place us in danger by telling us that. You know the way he is.”

She nodded, accepting the undeniable truth.
Hataaliis,
even under normal circumstances, made secrecy second nature. They claimed to be particularly
sensitive to the risks knowledge often carried. Information about rituals, gained inadvertently by outsiders, had sometimes even resulted in death, so Ella had never underestimated the power belief alone could have over people. The unknown always commanded more respect and fear than the known.

Ella went to the entrance of the hogan, pushed aside the damp blanket, and waved at Blalock. If he did
anything to offend anyone, she’d kick him out and worry about the M.E.’s report later.

As Blalock entered, he glanced warily at the armed man.

“This is their home,” Ella warned in a whisper. “You’re a guest. Chill.” She motioned him toward the north end, and fortunately the man complied.

Following Ella’s lead, Blalock reluctantly lowered himself to the dirt floor. “Ma’am, I need to find your
husband. Your father-in-law’s death was a ritual killing of some kind. If your husband has knowledge of why it was done that way, he could be in a great deal of danger.”

“I know nothing of the murder, and I assure you I don’t know where my husband is.”

“You were with him when he ran from the police. Can you tell me why he did that?”

“My husband has many enemies, as did his father. I suggest
you search there for the answers.”

“Where? Who are your husband’s enemies?”

“Those whose ways seek to harm the tribe,” Loretta said flatly.

Ella looked at Blalock, wondering if the implication had occurred to him as well. Loretta could have been referring to a third faction, those not allied with Clifford or their father. A statement like Loretta’s raised more questions than it answered.

“Can you be more specific?” Blalock insisted.

“My husband wanted to teach our people the old ways. There are some who say that that doesn’t matter anymore, that clinging to the past only holds us back. It’s within that faction that I believe you’ll find the murderer.”

“But that’s the side your father-in-law was on. He had no quarrel with them. Why would they kill him?” Blalock persevered.

“That
group is prepared to do whatever it takes to reach their goals. They would sacrifice one of their own if they believed it would discredit those of us who stand against them.”

Ella studied Loretta speculatively, wondering how broad an interpretation to give her accusation. Instinct was telling her that the same might be said of either side.

Blalock’s expression shifted to one of open skepticism.
“Are you familiar with the silver concha belt your husband frequently wore? I understand he made it himself.”

“Yes, he did. Silversmithing is certainly not a crime. Why do you ask?”

“A silver concha etched with what several people identified as his mark was found near the body. Can you explain how it got there?”

Ella felt the blood drain from her face and her mouth go completely dry. Could
Clifford have had something to do with the murder? She glanced at Loretta, hoping she’d have an answer that would satisfy Blalock.

To her credit, Loretta didn’t even flinch. “I think it would be obvious. Someone is trying to frame my husband.”

FIVE

Ella could see that Blalock was getting impatient. He’d learned nothing new, despite some rather inspired questioning.

Suddenly he changed tactics. “Ma’am, are you acquainted with your husband’s religious practices? Specifically, ritual sacrifices and that sort of thing?”

Even in the lantern light Ella saw Loretta’s face grow several shades paler. “That isn’t an acceptable subject—”

Ella felt the cold stare Loretta’s brother gave her. She stood and motioned Blalock outside. Blalock remained rock still, ignoring her. Annoyed, Ella crossed the hogan and nudged his shoulder with her knee, bumping into him until he stood.

“Cut the crap, will you?” he growled. Looking at the impassive, closed faces around him, he grudgingly left the hogan.

Ella knew that the inference that Clifford
had been involved with witchcraft had not only offended but frightened those in the hogan. To speak of a powerful evil was to invite it into your life. Ella was frustrated that superstition was interfering with the investigation, but she knew pushing further now would accomplish nothing. She tried to apologize to Loretta.

“Sister-in-law, have you become so much a part of their world that you
vouch for them so easily?” Loretta asked.

When she tried to answer, Ella found that the words lodged in her throat. As Ella walked outside, Loretta moved to stand beside her brother, blocking the doorway. Ella knew with certainty she wouldn’t be welcomed back.

She joined Blalock by his truck. “You blew it big-time—for both of us. You’re not that new around here. You know better than to pull
a stunt like that!”

“I was getting non-answers, and you know it. I had to press the issue,” Blalock complained.

“How do you figure you’re going to get anywhere by ignoring our ways?”

“Oh, please. I handled her with kid gloves.”

“You insulted her, and everyone in there. And since I made the mistake of vouching for you, your actions fall on me too.”

“I’m investigating a ritual murder. I need
to know what motivated the killer.”

“Let me see the M.E.’s report.”

“Not here. I prefer someplace out of rifle range of this hut. There’s a diner along the main highway, just off the reservation.” He motioned her inside his vehicle.

“You want to go to my mother’s place instead of the diner? The ride’s bumpy, but it’s a lot closer.”

“No offense, but I prefer neutral ground, where I won’t have
to mince my words or be politically correct,” Blalock grumbled.

Moments later they were under way. “It’s a good thing my pickup has four-wheel drive. The ruts in the road are the size of the Grand Canyon.” Blalock paused. “This is your home, Clah, not mine. You want to love it, ruts and all, that’s fine. All I want is a murderer brought to justice. How about giving me something to go on? This
is no ordinary heat-of-passion murder. There are things going on here that nobody, not even the chief of police, will talk about.”

“You’re dealing with ancient taboos, things that are hard for any of us to speak openly about.”

“Oh, come on,” he said incredulously. “The people back in that hogan might have that problem, but you don’t. I was told you don’t even speak Navajo, that you’re more Anglo
than the Anglos. That’s practically a quote.”

“From my father-in-law?”

“So, Randall Clah, the chief of police, is your father-in-law?” he observed. “I wondered about the last names.”

“I married his son right after high school graduation. Then Eugene went into the Army Rangers. After months of surviving dangerous training exercises, he died in a traffic accident off base.”

“Tough break.” Blalock
lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

Ella stared into the darkness. Eugene’s death had left her feeling so lost! Yet working through that time of pain, she’d found a new direction for her life, and strength she’d never thought she had. Something good had sprung from the bitter ashes. She hoped her mother would eventually be able to put her own life back together again, but she held little hope that
anything positive would come from her father’s death.

Blalock cursed as the pickup bounced in and out of a particularly nasty hole. “So much for the suspension.”

“Slow down or we’ll end up walking.”

He eased off the accelerator. “Tell me something. If your brother is so traditional, why does he have an ordinary name like Clifford? And why the hell doesn’t anyone ever call him Cliff? In fact,
one thing I’ve noticed around here is that people may use nicknames, but they never shorten a proper name.”

“Names are believed to have power. Why shorten them? In fact, that’s why so many have nicknames. You avoid using a name whenever you can.”

“But why ‘Clifford’?” he insisted.

“That’s his legal name. War names are secret and are considered to have a special power of their own. Using Clifford
in public makes life easier.”

Blalock lapsed into thought as the miles stretched out. “This is the worst post I’ve ever had,” he commented at last. “To make things even worse, I get the idea that they’ve never thought much of the feds around here.”

“That’s true,” Ella admitted. “My father-in-law was really annoyed when I joined the bureau. But let’s face it, very few local authorities welcome
FBI agents with open arms, regardless of the community.”

“It’s more than that. I’m also a white man, or as Clah says, an ‘Anglo.’”

“That’s certainly one factor working against you,” she conceded.

Blalock leaned forward as they came to a low spot crisscrossed with deeply cut channels. “Keep an eye out, will ya? I don’t want to drive headlong into one of these arroyos.”

Ella strained to see
ahead. The moon had gone behind the clouds, leaving them surrounded by thick blackness. The headlights sliced narrow, momentary paths through it, but the darkness eventually won, sealing itself as they passed.

The cry of an owl filled the night, unnerving her. “To a traditional Navajo that signifies death,” she muttered.

“Only if you happen to be a mouse,” Blalock countered.

She considered
telling him about the animal she’d seen earlier, and the truck that had come from nowhere and disappeared. Some people would claim that run-in had supernatural implications, but Ella just wondered how the stunt had been pulled off.

She was weighing what, if anything, to tell him when the distinctive crack of a rifle shot shattered the stillness of the night. Simultaneously the windshield flowered
into a spiderweb pattern, a nickel-sized hole in the center.

Blalock uttered a single expletive, then swerved and braked suddenly, slamming them against their seat belts. Throwing open their doors, they both dove into the damp cover of a stand of tall brush.

Ella, pistol in hand, peered out carefully and noted the bullet had gone clear through the cab and out the rear window. “Did you see where
it came from?”

“No. But he can’t be too far away. The sound reached us about the same time as the bullet did.”

She looked into the blackness without much hope of seeing anyone. “Well, at least the vehicle isn’t disabled.”

“We’re damn lucky.” He peered into the darkness, muttered a curse. “I can’t see anything. I’m calling this in and getting my rifle. There’s a nightscope on it.”

“Turn off
the dome light first.”

“I’m not a rookie, Clah.”

As Blalock carefully made his way into the truck, Ella sharpened her senses. The moonlight filtering through the clouds was barely enough to allow her to make out even the largest obstacles around them. She listened carefully for any sounds that didn’t belong, but all she could hear was an occasional distant rumble of thunder.

Blalock joined
her again, rifle under his arm. “I asked for assistance, but it’ll take officers an hour to find us. I couldn’t give them very good directions.” He slowly scanned the area with his nightscope. “If he’s still out there, I don’t see him.”

“He’s probably long gone. I don’t believe the attack was meant to kill either of us. Only one shot was fired, and it passed between us.”

“Maybe the sniper just
missed. Your relatives weren’t too happy with me.”

“Nor with me, but it’s highly doubtful they could have made it out here ahead of us,” she snapped. “Keep in mind that they were on foot.”

“Maybe someone was in place already.” After waiting for several minutes, they came out from cover and ran to the truck. Ella studied the bullet hole.

“If you were playing the odds, wouldn’t you say I was
the intended target?” Blalock asked. “I’ve made some enemies the past few years.”

“Who knows?” she answered slowly. “I have my own enemies here.”

“You think this might all be clan-related? Family ties seem to be strong on the reservation. Maybe two opposing clans are out to settle some score.”

“I can’t say yes or no at this point, but my hunch is that’s not the answer.” She studied the rear
glass. “It’s too bad we won’t be able to track down that bullet, but it’s long gone.”

“Time to get rolling,” he said, placing the vehicle in gear. “I don’t want to be anyone’s sitting duck. I’ll call in and tell the Navajo Police we’re out of danger.”

Half an hour later they reached the small diner, well past the fence and simple road sign that marked the reservation’s boundaries. Few customers
here would even give them a second glance. Blalock took a briefcase from behind his seat and carried it inside.

Ella picked a table that would give them both a clear view of the room. “This’ll do,” she told the waitress, a middle-aged Hispanic woman.