Turquoise Girl (19 page)

Lena was outside on her small porch sitting on a bench when Ella pulled up. Lena stood, took a close look at their vehicle, then motioned for them to come inside. Nobody said a word.

Ella couldn’t help but notice that the woman looked as if she’d aged twenty years since her daughter’s murder. Lena had lost all energy
in her step, and her back was hunched slightly. As they went into the living room, Ella noticed her reddened, swollen eyes and the dark circles under them.

“What are you doing to catch my daughter’s killer?” Lena’s tone made the question a half plea and half imperative demand.

After all the trouble Lena had caused, Ella was finding it difficult to be sympathetic. “Working very long hours, obviously.
We’re here now.”

“How can I help you?”

Ella told Lena about the conversation she’d had with her mother. “Do you remember the man my mother mentioned?”

Lena nodded. “He
was
seeing my daughter. I disliked him intensely, which was probably why she insisted on seeing him. Part of growing up, I suppose. The problem, of course, was that he was also very handsome and knew just what words to say. Young
women flocked to him and that fed his ego…which made him even worse.”

“I need a name,” Ella said.

“Your mother told you his nickname, right?”

Ella nodded. “I need his Anglo name.”

“Calvin…no, Caleb…Frank, I think. He was a bad seed, that one. I remember he gave my daughter a nickname, one that I found particularly offensive. He called her his Turquoise Girl. I tried to explain to my daughter
how disrespectful that was to the
Diné
’s Turquoise Girl. She inhabits Mount Taylor, one of our sacred mountains, and hers isn’t a name that should be thrown around so casually,” Lena said, then shaking her head, added, “I can tell you this much. I was really glad when his church kicked him out and he moved away.”

“Thanks for the information. We appreciate it,” Ella said.

“But this can’t be the
man who killed my daughter. He was as serious about religion as your father. They just had different ways of looking at it. As I said before, I think you should be looking at the Anglo who runs the diner. He was involved with my daughter and no one knows for sure where he was when she was killed. Some believe he was in the neighborhood that night.”

“You’re very well informed, but you don’t have
the whole story—and neither do we. Until we see how everything fits together, we won’t know anything for sure.” Ella gave Lena a physical description of the man she’d seen at the ditch. “Does that sound like Caleb to you?”

“Not really, except for the height. Caleb was handsome and took special pains with his appearance. And he was on the chunky side. But then again, it’s been a long time since
I last saw him. And scars can drastically change anyone’s appearance.”

When they reached the car, Ella glanced at Justine. “We have to run Caleb Frank’s name through NCIC and VICAP. We should also talk to Reverend Curtis
before
he finds out that the church records went up in smoke. Maybe he can tell us about Caleb Frank now that we have a name.”

“Tache is still at the station, I’ll bet. He
could run Caleb Frank for us while we pay Reverend Curtis a visit at the parsonage.”

Ella called Ralph Tache and found him at his desk, still going through the evidence. “Did you get anything from the photos you took at the office complex?” Ella asked.

“Not yet. The building had outside surveillance cameras because of the Bureau office, but those went up with the building and no images survived.
I do have some information on the prints Justine found. I ran them against our suspects and there are points matching Stan Brewster’s. But before you get too excited, we have matching points that lead us to Reverend Campbell, too, and ten thousand other possible hits in the national database.”

“Okay. Let that go for now. I’ve got a name I want you to run, a Navajo man in his forties or early
fifties—Caleb Frank. I want everything you can get me on this guy.”

“Everything?” Tache repeated. “If that’s the case, you may be better off letting me pass this on to someone who can search data banks I’ll never be able to access.”

Ella was surprised to hear Teeny’s voice in the background asking for the phone. A moment later he got on. “I’ll get you what you need,” Teeny assured her. “I got
the name from Tache and I’m on it.”

“But your computers…”

“The ones in my office are trashed, but I’ve got last year’s technology in my Farmington office, and next year’s at home.”

“Go for it then. Let me know what you come up with as soon as you can.”

“Will do.”

It was ten-thirty by the time they pulled up in front of the church, but the lights were still on in the preacher’s office. “Maybe
we should have called, but I didn’t want to give him time to prepare. Once people are on their guard, it’s difficult to get anything useful out of them.”

“Looks like he’s still working, or someone else is,” she said, pointing to the back office.

Ella and Justine walked down the side of the building and knocked on the back door to the office. Ella identified herself in a clear, loud voice for
the benefit of anyone inside.

Moments later Reverend Curtis came to let them in. “I’m surprised to see you two here so late.”

“We work long hours, as do you from the looks of it,” Ella answered.

“I’ve been working on Sunday’s sermon,” he said and led them to his office. “By the way, I’m glad to see you two are safe. I heard on the radio about that fire at the government offices.” He made himself
comfortable in his chair and waved them to two others. “So tell me, what can I do for you?”

“We need to ask you about a man by the name of Caleb Frank. I understand he was part of this church during my father’s time.”

“Caleb…” he repeated, then shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Let me jog your memory. He and my father had some serious differences of opinion. I’ve gathered that he was very
charismatic and liked to use Scripture to justify the need for retribution in the here and now.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, now I remember. He’s the man I told you about earlier—
natzee
. There’s a file on him somewhere, I think. Or it might be with the records you took.”

“Unfortunately, the files we took are all gone, Reverend,” Ella admitted reluctantly. “They were destroyed in the fire.”

“Is
that why someone crashed the truck through the wall? That would have made perfect sense if they hadn’t wanted you to look at them,” he said.

“What made you jump to that conclusion?” Ella asked instantly.

The preacher grew serious, then took a deep breath. “I’ve received a few phone calls from a man who refused to identify himself but warned me that I’d pay if I continued to cooperate with you,”
he said wearily. “In view of what happened at the Good Shepherd, I have to admit, it concerned me.”

“I know the group who was responsible for what happened there. The threats you’ve received don’t fit with their MO. Can you tell me more about these calls you’ve gotten?”

“There’ve been two, and both were quick and to the point. He doesn’t want me, or this church, to cooperate with you in any
way.”

“Did you hear any background noises when you spoke to him?” Ella pressed.

He thought about it. “Not that I could tell.”

“When did you get the first call?”

“A few hours after I gave you the paperwork, and I told him, he was too late. Then I got one more call after that, warning me that I shouldn’t give you anything else.”

Ella and Justine exchanged glances.

“The man the other day, the
one across the ditch. Could he have been the same man who made those calls to you?” Ella asked. “And do you think that man might have been Caleb Frank?”

“You know, the voice was a good match to that of the man we spoke to across the ditch. But I haven’t seen
natzee
since I was a kid. I wouldn’t know him even if I ran into him,” he said then paused. “Caleb Frank…” he repeated thoughtfully. “You
know, I think I’ve seen that name recently.” He glanced around the office, lost in thought.

As Justine shifted in her seat, her elbow collided with the file cabinet.

The reverend’s gaze shifted and suddenly he smiled. “I remember now. Your father started our heretical prophets file. That’s still in this office. I came across it the other day when I was shifting files around.”

“The what file?”
Ella asked.

“It’s a file with the names of people who are a threat to this church or the Scriptures. I should warn you that some of the people included in it are preachers from other churches, so it’s not like a criminal file. Over the years we’ve added names to it but, overall, it’s a very small file.” He went to a file cabinet near the corner of the room then, after a brief search, pulled out
a manila folder and handed it to Ella. “I will make one request. Considering what happened to the ones you borrowed before, could you look at this here?”

Ella nodded. “That’s not a bad idea, Reverend.”

Ella studied the contents of the folder. Toward the back, she found several handwritten letters made out to her father and signed by Caleb Frank.

“Our former church secretary mentions in there
that the police came here after your father was murdered. They apparently saw that file but, at the time, they already had a suspect in mind.”

Ella nodded, remembering that her brother Clifford had been their prime suspect. Working quickly, Ella searched all the papers in the file for any mention of Stan Brewster, but there was nothing there on him.

“Thanks,” she said, handing the file back.
“Is there anything else my father might have left behind?”

Reverend Curtis thought about it. “The burial records for his time here, maybe?”

“Can I see them?”

“It’s just a list of everyone who was buried in our cemetery and what plot they occupy.”

“I’d still like to see it,” Ella insisted.

He nodded, then stepped over to a large walk-in closet. “We access these records from time to time though
they go back fifteen years or more. But what earthly good could they possibly do you?”

“I’m not sure,” Ella said. “Give me a chance to study them.”

Ella and Justine examined the lists carefully, but there was nothing that caught their attention. Then Ella saw Dorothy Yabeny’s name, read the small annotation beside it, and then pointed it out to Justine. “Apparently her family brought her body
back and requested she be buried here,” Ella said. “I didn’t see that in the police reports.” She glanced at the Reverend. “Do you know where we can reach the victim’s mother?”

He nodded. “I’ll get you her address. She lives north of Shiprock, about halfway to the Colorado state line.”

After they left, Justine glanced at her. “It’s close to midnight, boss,” Justine said, “and we shouldn’t go
waking up people this time of night to ask them about their dead daughter. What do you say we get some sleep first?”

Before Ella could answer, their radio came alive. “SI One, you’re needed at the new power plant’s construction site. Backup’s on the way.”

“Ten-four, Dispatch. What’s going down?”

“The night watchman needs help. His call was garbled, but we think he said something about skinwalkers.”

“We’re on our way.”

“Skinwalkers?” Justine spun the unit around and headed for the turnoff to the site. “We haven’t had any problems with that kind of stuff in ages—not that I’ve heard about anyway.”

“We’re going in silent. I don’t want to scare the troublemakers off,” Ella said. “I wonder if this is a new angle the protesters have come up with to scare off the crew.”

When they arrived at the
guardhouse, a big metal shed hauled in since their last visit, a portly Navajo man came out running, clearly spooked. “You got a
jish
with you?”

“A medicine bag?” Ella studied the man’s face. The illumination from the two floodlights attached to the building was minimal, but she could tell he was terrified just from the sound of his voice. Ella pointed down to her belt and the small leather bag
that hung from it.

“Good. It may help.” He looked at her holster and added, “But that probably won’t.”

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” she said, perceiving that there was no immediate threat.

“It’s
them
. They’re cursing the place. The other Navajos in the crew, even the modernists, once they find out…”

Justine’s gaze took in the area around them, and Ella noted that she was still keeping
her hand close to her weapon.

“Over there,” he said pointing, Navajo style, by pursing his lips. “Where the forms are going in for the footings and foundation.”

“Are we still talking skinwalkers?” Justine asked him, not seeing anyone.

“Don’t say the word out loud,” he said, stepping away from her. “You call them to you that way.”

“Sorry,” Justine said quickly. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, no
kidding,” he muttered.

Ella walked in the direction he’d pointed, then stopped at the edge of the fenced perimeter. It was still locked and the openings in the chain link fencing were too small to give anyone a climbing foothold. Beyond, was a deep, dark pit, and the vague outline of a vast network of metal forms and stacks of rebar. Closer, on the ground beside the first stack of reinforcing
rods, she saw what appeared to be a very small severed hand.

“Oh, crap,” Justine muttered almost simultaneously.

“We need to get in there. Key?” Ella asked the night watchman.

He fished it out his pocket and tossed it at her, remaining well back. “Stay away from the pit. You fall in there, you’re dead.”

Ella passed through the gate, breathing through her mouth as she drew closer. The flesh
was shriveled and decomposed, and there were bugs on it now, feeding or laying eggs. “This isn’t from someone who died recently,” she said crouching by the body part, “but we’ll need to get an ID. This is the hand of a young child. Get our people out here,” she added, suppressing a shudder.

“The construction crew won’t report to work if they find out about this, so my boss asked that you try
and keep a lid on what’s happened,” he called out, cell phone still in hand.