Bad Medicine (36 page)

Ella weighed her options. “Mom, I really
need the name of the boyfriend. There’s got to be a way for you to help me.”

Rose said nothing for several long moments. “Come to my next Plant Watchers meeting. It’s tomorrow afternoon. Many of the same women will be there. Listen more than you speak and tread carefully with your questions and maybe they’ll help you.” Rose took the dishes away. “Why don’t you get some sheets and a pillow from
the hall closet, and then decide where you want your friend to sleep.”

“Okay.” Ella led Carolyn down the hall. “You can have my room.”

“Absolutely not. You’re doing enough putting me up. Tell me where you would have slept had I accepted, and I’ll sleep there.”

“I was going to sleep in my father’s old study. It’s now my office,” she said, taking some bedding from the linen closet. “There’s a
sofa bed in there but, I warn you, it’s lumpy and only slightly more comfortable than sleeping on the ground.”

“That’s my spot, then. You have a full day at work tomorrow.”

“Normally I’d at least try to pretend I’m a good hostess and argue with you, but I’m too beat. And I know you’re too stubborn to concede.” She handed Carolyn the bedding. “Make yourself at home.”

*   *   *

Ella woke up
to the shrill ringing of the phone. She reached over to the nightstand and accidentally knocked the receiver to the floor. Grumbling, she pulled it up to the bed by the cord.

“Yes? Hello?”

“Wake up Shorty. We have a situation.”

Ella sat up. She knew Big Ed well enough to know that a “situation” meant all hell was breaking loose. “What’s the trouble, Chief?”

“The miners were finishing their
shift, when half of them decided to tear the other half apart again. We have a few units there, but the fight keeps moving to other areas of the parking lot. All my available cops, on or off duty, are being ordered to respond.”

“On my way.”

“Watson, the Anglo supervisor who spoke to you, has been injured again, by the way.”

“Where’s he now?”

“In the infirmary. The mine has a full-time RN in
addition to the part-time help from the Medical Center. Go talk to Watson as soon as you can. When people have a gripe they generally become more talkative.”

“On my way,” she said, pulling up her jeans as she cradled the receiver between her head and shoulder. “Who’s in charge at the scene?”

“Sergeant Hobson.”

Ella hung up. Arnold Hobson was a cop’s cop. He was in his mid fifties, and came
from a long line of law enforcement officials. Quite imposing, he resembled the trunk of an old cottonwood, gnarled, rough, and totally immovable. She couldn’t think of anyone better to handle a civil disturbance.

Ella rushed out to her Jeep, checked her riot gear, then sped away. Carolyn and her mom were still sleeping. There seemed little point in waking them. They’d know she was out on duty
once they saw the Jeep was gone.

Once on the main road, Ella flipped on the sirens, and sped toward the mine. She was completely alert, but she still wished she could have had at least one cup of coffee. Her mouth tasted like the bottom of a bird cage, which probably meant terminal halitosis. If anyone gave her any crap, she’d breathe on them.

She pulled to a stop behind the line of patrol cars.
Four uniformed cops were trying to pull apart a group of at least twenty-five men. A breeze was blowing, and that made it difficult to use pepper gas. The apparent plan was to grab a combatant, handcuff him, then go back for another, but with two cops per man, it was difficult keeping up. Fists were flying and angry shouts filled the air. As she stepped out of the Jeep and hurried to put on her
gear, she saw Justine pulling up.

When one of the Navajo men turned to attack an officer who already had his hands full, Ella jumped in, poking the man in the stomach and chest with the end of the baton, forcing him back.

Justine soon followed, fighting beside Ella. “Back off!” she snapped as a tall Anglo almost twice her weight approached. The man limped back, grabbing his knee where it had
been struck sharply with the baton.

Ella moved to back Justine up, but before she could, Justine had the man on the ground, cuffed, and was looking around for another troublemaker.

Ella worked her baton overtime, separating the men one at a time, then cuffing them with tough nylon strips designed for that purpose and included in their riot gear. Soon her arms were aching and tired, and her body
sore from all the buffeting and deflected blows she’d taken. At least now there were more men on the ground than standing up.

Like her, Justine remained on her feet. Sergeant Hobson was following Ella’s lead with the temporary cuffs, then hauling troublemakers away, two at a time, and tossing them into the back of the police van.

“You’re in fine form,” Hobson said, as he slammed the doors of
the van shut. “Glad to see I don’t have to baby-sit you out here.”

Ella glared at him. He was part of the old school, and this type of harassment wasn’t uncommon. “Stuff it, Grandpa.”

He grinned. “Good. You have a sense of humor instead of a chip on your shoulder.”

Ella stared at him wordlessly, her hand gripping the baton tightly while she told herself that she would not use it against a fellow
officer—no matter how well deserved.

“What triggered all this, Sergeant?” she snapped.

“Near as I can figure, one of the Anglo workers found someone had poured sugar into the gas tank of his truck. He blamed one of the Navajo miners, and threw a punch. Everyone else jumped in, and the free-for-all was too much for the two security guards on duty.”

Justine joined her. “Between the guards, who
are really ticked off I might add, and the rest of our guys, this situation is under control now. Shall I help you question those in the infirmary?”

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

*   *   *

Ella waited for Howard Lee to check the bandage on Randy Watson’s head. The infirmary was crammed, with some bandaged miners sitting on the floor. Lee greeted her quickly, too busy to do more than nod. As soon
as he examined Watson, he moved away. Watson stood, caught Ella’s eye, and headed for the door. Ella went with him, matching his strides down the hall. The calm, logical man she’d spoken to before was now angry, struggling to keep the lid screwed tight on his temper.

“The tribal police can’t keep the peace here, that’s painfully clear. And the Anglos are having the worst of it. We have no protection
of any kind. We’re outnumbered, and on your ground, so you’ve got the advantage. We’re being discriminated against because we’re white, even though we work for the tribe.”

“Discrimination?” she shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that. A pickup that belonged to an Anglo was ruined, that’s true, but a Navajo, maybe two, lost their lives a few days ago. Right now, you’re angry because you’ve
got a bad back and now someone whacked your skull, but I saw several Navajos in the infirmary with injuries, too.”

“I don’t see the tribal police doing anything to protect anyone, except show up after the fact to arrest people. It’s particularly bad for the Anglos. We’re all being targeted. Vandalism is rampant. The other day a half-dozen men had the sides of their cars keyed or their headlights
smashed. I had bags full of ashes spread all over my brand new truck, inside and out. It was hell to clean.”

Ella was shocked. In the Navajo way, the power was never in the item itself, but in what it represented. Spreading ashes during the day was said to be an insult to Sun, and left a trail for Poverty. It had been meant, in this case, as a curse. What bothered her most was that it was a stunt
a skinwalker would have pulled. She was relieved when Watson didn’t ask her any questions about it, and dismissed it as an act of vandalism.

“Ashes? When did that happen?”

“After daybreak yesterday. I was just back at work the first day since my accident, putting in some overtime to make up for the time when I was laid up. The purpose of all this, of course, is to force us to quit, because we
can’t afford to keep fixing what’s broken or having their vehicles repaired constantly. You see that, don’t you?”

“Have many Anglos quit?”

“Only a few have, but I’ll tell you this. The rest of us who are still here won’t quit. We have families to support, and we’re too damn stubborn to allow anyone to run us out. Confrontations like the one outside today will happen more often because neither
side will back down.”

“Tell me who you think the members of The Brotherhood are.”

“I don’t know who they are, but even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you now. As far as I’m concerned, the Anglo workers have to stand together. You take your allies as they come, you don’t always choose them.”

Ella questioned several other injured miners, but none of the interviews with them disturbed her as much as
the one with Watson. Afterward, she met with Justine out by the front.

Justine’s frown tipped off Ella long before she had said a word.

“Let’s not talk here,” Ella cautioned, aware that two office workers from the mine were standing near the windows.

Ella led Justine to where they’d left their vehicles. “Okay, now we can speak freely. What did you find out?”

Justine flexed her hand. Her knuckles
were bruised and raw, a souvenir from the riot. “I think someone’s manipulating the situation here, hoping to turn the miners against each other. I learned of one incident that sounded just plain crazy. One of the Navajo workers was seen talking to an Anglo, just talking, mind you. That night several trucks came to his home, aimed their headlights into his windows, and he was warned to stay
loyal to his own or face the consequences.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t get that name from anyone, though the incident was obviously common knowledge.” Justine shook her head. “In a way, it sounds like the kind of rumor that is spread to enhance fear, rather than something that actually happened. But that’s just my feeling.”

“I think you’re probably right on target with this.” She
recounted the incident with the ashes.

“You think it’s a skinwalker playing tricks?” she asked in a whisper-soft voice.

“I think maybe someone is taking advantage of the problems that already exist here to divert us.”

“Makes sense,” Justine said. “I’m going back to the station to see if I can turn up anything from the remnants of the Molotov cocktails that started the fire at the M.E.’s trailer.
Or is there something else you’d rather I worked on next?”

“No, go on with your plans. I’m going to stop by home, shower and eat breakfast, then I’ll meet you at the office.”

Ella headed home. Driving often helped her lose the edginess that went hand in hand with a tough case. This time, however, it wasn’t helping. There was a cold, tight knot in the pit of her stomach. Life was becoming a lot
more complicated on the reservation. Separate realities were intertwining. A world filled with facts and logic surrounded her at work. But there was another level, too. That one was fed by beliefs as old as the
Dineh
themselves. It was there that the skinwalkers thrived and preyed on fear. The threat she was facing proved just how cunning and lethal her adversaries were.

As Ella drove up to her
mother’s home, she saw her brother’s truck parked there along with another she didn’t recognize. Ella left her Jeep cautiously, but relaxed when she saw her mother casually picking herbs in her garden, accompanied by Clifford.

Ella went inside the house and found Sergeant Neskahi in the kitchen finishing one of her mother’s breakfast burritos. “Well, hi there! What are you doing here? Should
you even be up?”

“I’m not ready for active duty, but when I heard what happened to the M.E., I came over here with a proposition. Let me stick around the area and keep a watch on your home. If I just lay in bed I’m going to go crazy.”

Ella smiled. She could understand the way he felt and his need to remain useful. “Okay. Where do you plan to set up your surveillance?”

“I figured I’d take my
binoculars and keep watch from the top of the mesa out back. Once I see you’re home for the night, I’ll go.”

“Deal. But it’s going to get pretty hot out there. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I’ll take plenty of water. Don’t give it another thought,” Neskahi said, grabbing a slice of bread from the table and heading out the door.

Ella looked out the window and saw her mother and brother heading
back inside. Seeing their somber expressions, she met them at the kitchen door. “What’s going on?”

“My wife and son are ill. At first I didn’t worry too much, but it started the night of the inoculation clinic.”

“But they weren’t immunized, were they?” Ella felt instantly guilty, knowing she’d pressured her brother into going.

Carolyn came into the kitchen. “Are you talking about the last vaccination
clinic
I
was at?” She saw Clifford nod, and looked at Ella. “Neither your sister-in-law or her son were given any shots, or medication. I can assure you of that. I would have known.”

“She’s right,” Clifford said. “That’s why I wasn’t concerned. But then my wife’s fever went up, and my son got sick to his stomach. I will be doing a Sing over them. Now I have the herbs I need.”

“Why not do all
that, and also take them to the hospital?”

“They couldn’t have anything that came from contaminated medication, but they could end up catching something at the Anglo hospital,” Clifford said.

“My medications
weren’t
contaminated,” Carolyn replied firmly.

“It’s possible someone switched just a few of the vials,” Clifford said with a shrug.

“But they didn’t come into contact with any of the
vials—or anything else. And we were all watching for that type of thing, you and your sister included. It simply wasn’t possible,” Carolyn said.

“Unfortunately, it’s something that would only take a second to accomplish. Just because we didn’t catch anyone, doesn’t mean it wasn’t done. Let me see if I can demonstrate.” He glanced around, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out two plums. “These
are roughly the same size as your vials?”