Enemy Way (6 page)

Rose’s gaze rested on her daughter. “Just come back when the nurse is through.”

Ella nodded, then walked out into the hall with Clifford. “I wonder when they’ll tell Mother about her legs.”

“She probably suspects already. Mother is very intuitive. Besides, I doubt she can even feel them, they’re so wrapped up and braced.”

Ella longed for the anger that had
supported her the night before. There was greater strength there than in this sense of acute weariness she now felt. “She’ll need the support of both of us getting, literally, back on her feet, and maybe you more than me, Brother,” she said, wishing it wasn’t true, but knowing it was. “Your knowledge of our ways will give her the courage she’ll need to fight her way back to health.”

He shrugged.
“Regardless of what we do or say, the amount of progress she makes will be up to her.”

“She’ll also need our help around the house,” Ella answered. “We’ll have to make sure the place will be safe and functional for her on crutches. Maybe even for a wheelchair at first, which might require some construction-type work.”

As the nurse left the room, Ella and Clifford went back inside. Rose was sitting
up slightly now, propped up by pillows and the elevated mattress of the special bed. Her eyes did little to hide her pain, an injury that went far beyond the physical. There was a touch of defeat in her expression, too, and that alarmed Ella more than anything else could have.

Trying to compose herself, determined that her mother wouldn’t see that she was afraid, Ella sat down slowly and managed
a smile. Clifford stood by the window, silent.

“You are pretending for my benefit, Daughter, but I can see your concern.” Rose looked over at her son. “Yours, too. You both know that my legs … don’t work. Soon the rest of me will follow.”

Ella felt an icy hand grip her heart. “What are you talking about? What did the nurse say to you?”

“She talked about exercises, and using crutches. They even
insist on starting me out in a wheelchair. But all that won’t matter, really. My time is coming soon.”

Ella looked into her mother’s eyes. This was not her mother’s well-known intuition, something Ella shared with Rose, this was despair and defeat. “You’ve been through a lot, Mom, but you’ll come out of this. Your legs will heal. And we have the other driver in custody. He was drunk, and it was
all his fault. He’ll pay. Count on it.”

Rose smiled. “My daughter, always concerned about justice. But sometimes there is no justice.”

“There will be in this case,” Ella said adamantly.

“You look tired, Daughter. You should go home. Your brother will stay with me for a while before he has to leave.”

Ella glanced at Clifford and he nodded, confirming his willingness to take the first watch.
Ella looked back at her mother and smiled gently. “I’ll take care of myself, Mom, if you’ll do the same. And I’ll see that justice is done, too, but I will need your help. Do you remember seeing someone with a cane walking by the side of the road around the time of the accident?”

Rose’s expression grew pensive and she stared at an indeterminate spot across the room. “What made you ask that? I
remember seeing an old Navajo woman, a traditionalist, wearing a long velvet skirt and a blanket wrapped around her upper body to keep warm. I don’t know who she was, but I was thinking of offering her a ride. It was cold outside, and she was having a difficult time walking, in spite of the cane. But she wasn’t in the road, if that’s what you’re asking. It must have been the alcohol that made the
other driver weave over into my lane.”

Ella nodded. “Okay. Thanks. We found some tracks and it was a loose end I wanted to tie up.” She leaned over and gave her mother a kiss. “I’m going home now to shower and change, then go in to work. Is there anything you want me to bring when I come back later today?”

Rose thought about it, then shook her head. “My herbs won’t do anything to help me now.
Just make sure someone feeds Two,” she said.

Ella smiled. At least her mother was concerned about the dog. That was a good sign. “I bet he’s already missing you, but don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”

Ella stepped aside as Clifford came toward the bed, nodding good-bye. A proper Sing would take days and couldn’t be done here. For now, Clifford would do a brief pollen blessing. Next time,
when Rose was stronger, a longer prayer would be done. Invoking the power of the gods, Clifford would recount the exploits of the Holy People and take their mother on a symbolic journey that would renew her strength. Ella wished there was something concrete like that that she could do to help her mother heal, other than just making sure the house was ready.

Ella went home, showered, and fed the
dog. Two was a scraggly mutt that vaguely resembled a rusty collie, if one were to squint and had a good imagination. The dog had a face only a mother could love, but from the day Rose had let the hungry, shivering stray into the house, the mutt had been fiercely loyal to and protective of everyone in her family.

As Ella began to fix herself a quick sandwich, she paused for a moment, aware of
the stillness. The total silence inside the house jarred her nerves. She’d lived alone before, but this was the only place she’d ever called home. The quiet that echoed around her seemed out of place and frightening. The refrigerator came on all of a sudden, and she jumped.

Ella turned on the Navajo station and listened to country western ballads while she wrote up a quick report on the incident
with the Bekis family at the hospital. She was finished, about to turn off the radio, when the morning news came on. The capture of the bank robbers was the lead story, but her mother’s accident and the facts surrounding the drunk driver responsible followed, with nearly as much coverage. Questions were being asked about the courts that had allowed the man to retain his license.

Ella nodded in
approval. Too many drunks, their condition self-inflicted, were getting off with excuses, bending the law to suit themselves. She had no sympathy for anyone who drove intoxicated, but, then again, she’d never been one to ascribe to the philosophy that people were simply victims of their environment and therefore not responsible or accountable for their actions.

Poverty and the harsh living conditions
on the Rez had led to a high rate of alcoholism. She understood that, but she also believed that anyone who knew right from wrong was as responsible for the choices they made, drunk or sober, as she was for hers.

Finished with her sandwich, she chugged a small glass of milk, checked her weapon, then walked out the door. She had no desire to linger here with only frustration over her mother’s
accident as company.

When Ella arrived at the station, she saw a large group of reporters hovering near the main entrance, despite the relatively early hour. Most weren’t from the Rez. There were too many Anglo faces mingled in that crowd, faces she recognized from TV news shows.

Apparently they were waiting for her, and knew what she looked like. It couldn’t be the uniform, because she was
a plainclothes officer. They rushed toward her like a swarm of bees, cameras running and microphones raised. She swallowed her disgust. They were not there to right any wrongs, but to get a story, the more sensational the better. They were doing their jobs, but their own careers were probably their first priority, not justice.

Ella shook the bitter thoughts aside. While with the FBI, senior agents
had always handled communication with the press, so she had never learned Bureau-speak. But now that she was the senior officer of her own police unit, the job of spokesperson had fallen on her shoulders more than once over the past few years.

Ella knew that despite their sometimes shallow perception, the press had power. At the moment that power was the only tool she had. She gave them short
and abrasive sound bites, truthful quotes she was sure they’d print. She cited the facts of Bekis’ arrest record, demonstrating how he’d used the system to elude justice, while continuing to violate the law. She then described her mother’s condition, wanting to reach hearts she knew had long grown cold, calloused by the litany of violence that made up the daily news nowadays.

As she spoke, she
noticed Big Ed at the open window of his office, watching and listening. She refused to look directly at him. If he disapproved of what she was doing, he’d let her know soon enough. She had this one chance, and she wouldn’t back away.

*   *   *

As Ella entered her office, she found Justine waiting. “That was some news conference you gave out there.”

“You disapprove?”

“No, I don’t, but Big
Ed wants to see you. He may have another take on this.”

Ella nodded. “I’ll go talk to him.” She looked through the phone messages, searching for something important enough to make her forget her problems, at least for a while, but everything was painfully routine.

This was the first time she’d ever felt the need to escape her own life. The revelation took her by surprise. Up to now, she would
have been more likely to joke that she had
no
life of her own.

As she entered Big Ed’s office she saw him standing by the window, watching the newspaper and television vans driving away. “Well, at least the reporters are leaving. That’s one good thing about your impromptu statement out there.”

“You don’t approve of what I said?”

“Oh, I agree with what you said, but I don’t think you should
have said it the way you did. You were too blunt about our suspect, and as an officer of this department it’s not your job, or ours, to take sides. The department has an established position on DWI that’s well known and publicized. It’s the job of the district attorney to prosecute criminals.”

“But I’m also a human being and I have a right to my opinions. My mother isn’t a cop, and I’m her daughter.”

He held up a hand. “I’m not going to argue this with you. I know that your mother’s been badly injured. And all of us here are very sorry about that. Rose is well-liked by everyone, and we’re worried about her, just like you are. But your statements out there are going to result in the press hounding our judges and politicians. What you said
will
be distorted by somebody along the line. Eventually,
that will result in calls to me, and who knows, maybe even a lawsuit from Bekis or one of his family. Lawyers do that.”

“I didn’t say anything that couldn’t be verified as factual, and if it results in any changes to the law, making it tougher for a person arrested for DWI to retain his license or vehicle despite his expensive lawyers, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

“That’s not the function of this
department, nor is it your job. That’s why we have legislators, judges, and tribal spokespeople like myself. I’m sure I’ll be called upon soon enough to restate our department’s position, probably as soon as the public reads or hears the news.”

“Then if I make any more statements, I’ll make sure that they are not linked to me as a tribal officer, but rather to me, as an individual. I’ll be off
duty, and away from this facility.”

“I’ll accept that for now.”

Hearing a knock on the door, Ella followed the chief’s gaze and turned around. “I hate to interrupt,” Justine said, “but we have trouble. There’s been what appears to be a homicide.”

For one fleeting moment, Ella hoped it was Bekis. “Where, and do we know the identity of the victim?”

She nodded. “It’s Lisa Aspass. Wilson Joe apparently
found the body when he went to her home to find out why she hadn’t shown up for work at the college.”

At the mention of the familiar names, Ella felt her body grow cold. Wilson had been engaged to marry Lisa. Sorrow filled her as she realized the blow her friend had sustained. Yesterday her life had seemed a challenge, but manageable. The future had held a myriad of possibilities. Now her mother
was gravely injured and a good friend had just lost the woman he loved. It seemed as if only an expanse of darkness lay ahead, obscuring all the light.

FOUR

Ella was worried about her mother, but still there was work to do. She turned on the siren as she sped down the highway. Justine rode with her, searching her notes for the directions to Lisa’s home. Neither of them had been there before. Harry Ute, the crime scene investigator and Ralph Tache, the photographer, were in the van behind them.

“Wilson called it in?” Ella asked her assistant.

“Right,” Justine said. “He asked for you, and when I told him you were in a meeting, he told me what had happened. He sounded like a robot, everything he said was in a monotone. It was eerie. Maybe it was shock, but…” Justine remained quiet for a moment. “I know he’s your friend, boss. Do you think you can keep focused on this case?”

Ella glared at her assistant. “I won’t make nearly as many
assumptions as you’re making, I guarantee that.”

Justine looked away, and stared at the notebook on her lap as if it had become the most interesting thing on the planet. Finally, she spoke. “You told the reporters about wanting to see justice done and how things get thrown out of court over details that aren’t relevant to the case. I just want to make sure we don’t have that happen to us on this
investigation.”

“I didn’t know you’d listened so closely to my impromptu press conference.”

Justine shrugged. “There were a lot of us nearby.”

Ella opened and closed her hands, flexing her fingers, though still careful not to completely let go of the wheel. Justine had a point, and she shouldn’t have turned on her. “It’s true that Wilson Joe is a longtime friend of mine, but I also know my
job. He may end up as a suspect, but it’s also quite possible he has a solid alibi for the time of death. He’s not the kind of person to kill except to protect someone else. But we won’t cut him any slack simply because I know him. This is a murder investigation. If at any time you feel anything is being done improperly, then say so right then. I may head our team, but it
is
a team.”

“Okay. We’ll
take it one step at a time,” Justine said.

Following Justine’s directions, Ella turned and headed into the relatively new residential area she’d traveled through with Clifford the evening before. Her skin was crawling as she slowed down and nodded to the three gang members sitting on the hood of a beat-up old Chevy. It was as if they had never moved. Maybe hanging out
was
their job. As before,
they flashed her their gang sign. It wasn’t the young gangsters that bothered her today, though. What she felt was more elusive than that, and far more dangerous.