Turquoise Girl (25 page)

Ella began searching with her flashlight, and found a vague trail leading away from the graveled yard but it quickly petered out. By the time she returned to the crime scene, she found Carolyn, the tribe’s ME, already at work, crouched by the body and speaking into her small cassette recorder. Tache, Neskahi, and
Justine were going over every inch of the bedroom. They would move into the hall and beyond later.

“The victim fought like a wildcat,” Tache said, snapping photos. “There was a .38 Blackhawk revolver under the bed, fired recently, and a partial box of ammo in the nightstand. Looks like she got off a round.”

“I’ll check for residue and let you know. She’s got all kinds of defensive wounds,” Carolyn
added, glancing up at Ella. “There’s also a deep gash across the palm of her hand. Like she grabbed the blade of her attacker’s knife and took it away for a moment. Some of the blood here may not be hers.”

“I hope you’re right,” Justine said. “I’ll run the serial number on the pistol. Anyone locate the knife?”

Tache shook his head. “No,” Joe responded. “Her assailant may have taken it with him.”

“We’ll need to search outside where I found some footprints and look for drops of blood.” As Ella studied the scene empathy filled her. She would have done exactly as Martha had—fight to the bitter end. “Justine, have you contacted her husband?”

“There’s a note on the calendar in the kitchen that mentions he’s at a club meeting tonight, but it doesn’t say which club. Without that, we have no
quick way of tracking him down.”

“The killer was interrupted,” Ella said in a slow, thoughtful voice. “He didn’t expect us to arrive when we did. That’s why her hair wasn’t combed like the last victim’s and why there’s no Bible or medicine bundle.” She paused thoughtfully, then added, “It’s the killer’s use of those two things that confused me at first. But in terms of Caleb, it fits. Maybe he’s
trying to say that retribution is fitting no matter which path you choose—a return to harmony by death as well as peace with God.”

“Nothing here suggests Brewster’s involvement,” Justine said, disappointed. “This wasn’t a crime of passion. This was premeditated.”

“He’s not off our radar yet, partner,” Ella said. Hearing a vehicle driving up, she glanced out the window. “I’d better get out there.
It could be the woman’s husband.”

Ella stood by the front door in the glow of the porch light as a stocky Navajo man in his mid-fifties stepped out of a dark colored pickup. “Where’s Martha?” he asked, giving Ella a puzzled look. “Was there an accident?”

“Are you her husband?” Ella asked.

He nodded. “I’m Leland Etcitty. Who are you?”

Ella introduced herself, then broke the news. As she watched,
shock, then unbelief traveled across his features.

“No, this is a mistake. She’s not dead. She can’t be,” he said in a strangled voice, and tried to go around Ella.

“You’ll have a chance to go in later, Mr. Etcitty, but right now we need to keep the crime scene from being contaminated,” she said, blocking him. “We need every clue we can find to catch whoever did this.”

He stopped by the open
front door and took a deep, unsteady breath. “What’s that sick, sweet smell? Blood?” he whispered, horror coiling around his words. “If my wife died in the house, I can’t go inside.”

Ella waited. A New Traditionalist married to a Christian? Stranger things had happened.

There was a noise, then a bump, as Carolyn and Neskahi came out onto the porch, maneuvering a gurney with the black body bag
containing Martha’s body. Asking them to stop, Ella unzipped the body bag just enough to reveal Martha’s face. As Leland saw his wife, he groaned. The sound, soft and deep, was ripped straight from his soul.

Ella zipped up the body bag and gestured for them to take the body away. “Do you need to sit down?” she asked Leland gently.

He shook his head, but shakily reached out and grabbed one of
the porch supports. “Who did this?” Leland demanded, oblivious to his own tears.

Ella kept her voice as calm as possible. “We’d hoped you could give us some idea. A motive, perhaps?”

He gave her a bewildered look. “Martha had no enemies. I don’t know anyone who
didn’t
like her. She was the best wife and mother anyone could ever ask for.”

Ella had hoped for the opening and, recognizing the opportunity,
took it immediately. “How many children do you have?”

“Three boys. They’re all grown, but they still live on the Rez.”

“Are all three yours, or do any of them come from a previous marriage?” she asked without any particular inflection.

“They’re
our
kids,” he said, giving her a totally perplexed look.

“What I’m asking, is did your wife have any children from a previous marriage?”

“No,” Leland
answered, then shook his head. “Yes.”

“Which is it?” Ella pressed, using a soft voice in hopes of keeping him calm. She could read the confusion, the pain, and the outrage burning in his eyes.

“What possible difference does all that make now?” he yelled. “That was ages ago, before I even met her. And that child’s dead. He died at birth. Back then, my wife didn’t believe in prenatal care.”

“She was a traditionalist?”

“More like a New Traditionalist with a stubborn streak,” he answered, his voice breaking. He ran a hand through his hair, still struggling to understand. “This isn’t happening.”

“Have any strangers been around here lately?” Ella pressed. “Or did your wife mention being in contact with someone she hadn’t seen in a long time? There was a .38 revolver under the bed and
it has been fired recently. Is it yours?”

“We…I own a Blackhawk .38. I keep it loaded in the nightstand. She didn’t like guns, but I taught her how to use it. I hope she hit the bastard.”

Leland’s eyes narrowed. “You think this was an old boyfriend, or something like that? You came here thinking she might be in danger, was that it? Then you discovered the body.”

“Yes. Now we’re trying to find
the person who did this to her.”

“But you’re too late…too late to save her,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve got to talk to my boys before they hear it from someone else. I need to go. Now,” he added quickly.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be driving,” she said slowly.

“There are things I have to do,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Am I free to go?”

“Where can I reach you?”

“I’ll be at the
Trail Inn. This house and the contents will go to charity.”

A few minutes later, all she could see were the taillights of his truck as it disappeared in the distance.

Justine was checking the front room as Ella came back into the house. “There’s no sign of a burglary, boss. There are too many valuables around the house, including the revolver, and the place wasn’t tossed like Valerie’s apartment,”
Justine said. “Dr. Roanhorse believes that the victim has been dead less than an hour, so we got here just as he was leaving.”

“He left because he heard us come up, and that’s why he didn’t have time to stage everything. I heard someone outside, but couldn’t catch up to him or find out where he went,” Ella replied.

“The message I left on her answering machine has been played. It’s possible that
both victim and killer heard me.”

“If he was already here, the call probably had little or no effect on the outcome. My guess is the only thing it did was force him to race the clock. That, and fear that the noise from the gunshot would lead to a visit from an officer. At least we don’t have to worry about any children. Martha had one child before she married Leland. He was stillborn.”

“Caleb’s
child?”

“That’s the way I see it,” Ella answered.

As Justine went back inside, Joe Neskahi came up to her. “We found a scribbled note beneath the lamp with part of what may be a Bible quote. I’m not very familiar with Scripture so I can’t say for sure.”

“What did it say?”

“‘If thy right eye offend thee pluck it,’” he answered. “The starting vowel
o
was next, but he obviously never finished
writing it.”

She wasn’t familiar with the passage, but she knew someone who would be.

“Do you think this guy has more people he considers an offense?” Neskahi asked her. “Someone else he needs to kill?”

“I sure hope not,” Ella answered, getting the point he was making.

She was about to go back inside when her cell phone rang. It was Teeny. “I’ve got an address for Caleb Lujan. Turns out he
rented an apartment in Farmington. He was behind on the rent, so the landlord locked him out. His stuff’s still there.”

“And Caleb?”

“Hasn’t shown up. I told the apartment manager you’d be stopping by, even though he insisted that he doesn’t know where Caleb went.”

Ella took down the address. “I’m on my way.”

“One more thing, Ella. I tracked down a former cellmate of Caleb’s who’s still serving
time. The warden agreed to set up an Internet interview for us. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to go with that.”

“Good work! You can reach me on my cell. I’m on my way to Farmington right now.”

Ella went inside to update Justine. “Do you want me to go with you?” Justine asked.

“I need you to help Ralph and Joe finish up here. Check the neighbors and see if anyone saw or heard anything.
Get me something we can hang this guy with, and remember to check for a blood trail outside, even if you have to wait till morning.”

“Big Ed won’t like you traveling alone,” Justine warned.

“It’ll be on my head,” Ella answered. “But I’ll need someone with jurisdiction. I’ll call Blalock and have him meet me there.”

Ella drove to Farmington, the biggest city in that corner of the state. The
road was good, traffic light, and that made up somewhat for her lack of patience tonight. She had a feeling that the Fierce Ones would be half a step behind her once they learned about Martha Etcitty—if they didn’t know already. Unless she collared Caleb Frank soon, they’d harass everyone who might have seen him, probably beginning with Reverend Curtis and his congregation.

After notifying the
Farmington police via radio of her presence, she arrived at the northeast neighborhood. She had made good time, so Blalock hadn’t caught up with her yet. The building had been divided into five apartments, side by side. Ella parked right outside the middle door marked
MANAGER
.

Just as she got out an Anglo man in his late fifties opened the door, a mug of something hot in his hand.

“You detectives
always work this late?” he grumbled, stepping out onto the narrow sidewalk.

“Not when we can help it,” Ella replied. She could smell the dark, rich roast of his coffee and found herself wishing he’d offer her a cup.

Instead, he held out the key. “It’s the last one at the end, number five. You can take whatever you want. I was going to haul everything out of there anyway and drop it by the homeless
shelter. I’m not a storage facility.”

“Have you had any recent contact with Mr. Lujan?” Ella asked, taking the key.

“Recent?” He shrugged. “Not since I kicked him out, almost a week ago. I give the tenants two weeks’ grace period with their checks, and that’s it. Otherwise, people take advantage.”

“What happened?”

“I went to see him the evening before to ask him for the rent one last time,
and he put me off. So the next morning, after he was gone, I let myself and the locksmith in, and he changed the locks. When Lujan came back he was madder than a wet hen, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. I had my cousin here, and he works for the Farmington Police.”

“Who’s your cousin?”

“Brad Whitacre. He’s a sergeant.”

“Okay, so what happened next?” Ella asked, taking note of the
name.

“Lujan did a lot of yelling, but I wouldn’t budge, so he lost it and slammed his fist against the door. Big mistake, considering it’s a solid core door. Then Brad whipped out his can of Mace, and Caleb got the message. He left in a hurry after damning us both to the hellfire, or something like that. Haven’t seen Caleb since, though he said he’d be coming back for his things.”

“Be extremely
careful. That man is dangerous,” Ella warned.

“I figured that,” he said, pointing to his door. “He racked up his fist pretty bad and bloodied up the door. Took me a while to wipe up the mess.”

“A lab tech will be coming by and checking for any remaining traces of blood on that door, so don’t clean anymore. In the meantime, I’d like to take a look around his apartment.”

“Sure. Knock yourself
out,” he said.

As he walked away grumbling, Ella called Blalock, who was in the area now, and filled him in and what she’d learned so far.

“I’ll get the Farmington PD in on this. Hang tight,” Blalock said. “They’ll be there in a few minutes and so will I.”

Cooperation between the departments had always been strong. Sergeant John Vasquez of the FPD showed up seconds before Agent Blalock arrived.

Ella updated Vasquez quickly. “I need to process the manager’s door, and Caleb Lujan’s room and possessions for evidence. I’ve already been given permission by the manager.”

“I’ll notify our crime team,” he said.

Ella entered the apartment, Blalock at her side, while Vasquez waited outside for the others. The photo on Caleb’s desk immediately caught Ella’s eye. It was over fifteen years old
and showed her father and Caleb on the steps in front of the Divine Word Church. Her father’s face had been sliced down the middle with a razor, and below that was the note
EXODUS
20:5.

Blalock followed her gaze, then looked back at her and shrugged. “Any idea what’s in Exodus 20:5?”

“No, but maybe the Bible on the dining table will tell us,” Ella said.

Ella didn’t even have to search. The
page was marked, and the passage highlighted read, “I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children until the third and fourth generation.”

“Think he’s referring to you?” Blalock asked, coming up behind Ella.

“I hope so. Nothing I’d like more than the chance to meet up with this guy,” Ella said, her voice hard. “Then we’ll see how well he does against
someone who knows how to fight back.”