Death Walker (11 page)

She looked at the date stamped on the envelope. It had been mailed yesterday. Of course by now news had traveled from the student witnesses to their friends and relatives. Still, his oblique reference to that painting unsettled
her.

“What else does he say?” Rose prodded gently.

“He’s goading me, but that doesn’t bother me. What does is that he seems to be in possession of information he shouldn’t have.” Ella lapsed into silence, afraid she’d said too much and raised questions in her mother’s mind. She didn’t want to worry her, and learning about the ash painting would certainly do just that.

“Not knowing is worse,”
Rose said softly. “What are you keeping from me?”

Ella smiled. She’d forgotten how easily her mom could read her thoughts. Ella gestured down at the paper on the table. “You can read it.”

Rose’s face contorted with a brief flash of anger, then with effort she schooled her features into stillness again. “He manipulates well. Now I understand why you have to work so hard to maintain your temper.”
Rose sat down on the chair across from her daughter. “These signs—more skinwalker activity?”

Ella told her mother about the charcoal dry painting, and what she’d found out. “If Peterson’s still behind bars, and his activities can be accounted for, then that’ll prove that this is only a skillful bluff. It’s very possible he wrote this just to get attention.”

“That could very well be,” Rose admitted.
“Let’s face it. He would certainly know how to do a proper ash painting, and so would his followers. It’s part of their training. Precise details play an important part in their rituals, as in ours, and any skinwalker would pay more attention to that than the killer did.”

Ella stood up. “I’m going to contact Big Ed.” Ella dialed and after a few minutes managed to reach her boss’s pager. She was
grateful when the return call came only a few moments later. Ella gave Big Ed a full report, then waited as he considered his reply.

“I don’t like this,” Big Ed finally said. “I’m going to call the psychiatric hospital. A request from me personally will get us a faster response. I’ll demand an official accounting of all his movements, even if it entails talking to every nurse and guard.”

“On
another, hopefully unrelated, matter. Do you know how that bus accident happened?” Ella asked.

“Survivors say the driver swerved to avoid hitting some sheep in the road. He lost control,” Big Ed replied, then paused. “What do you mean, ‘hopefully’?”

“Some of the people I’ve spoken to claim that the murder was just a trigger for a series of disasters. I was just thinking out loud,” Ella explained.

“Well, they’re wrong. We have enough on our hands already. I’ll get back to you.”

As Ella hung up the telephone, she saw her mother by the stove preparing their favorite dinner dish, a Navajo taco. The aroma of the freshly fried sopaipilla filled with beans, chiles, and meat permeated the air, making her mouth water.

Rose sprinkled some shredded cheddar cheese over the steaming food and placed
it on the table before her daughter.

Ella’s eyes widened. “I hope this is for both of us, mother.” The sopaipilla was huge, flaky, and golden, brimming over with a cheesy pinto bean mixture that spilled all the way to the rim of the plate.

“It’s for you, and I expect you to eat every last bite of it. You’re going to need your strength.”

“If I eat all this, I won’t be able to fit behind my steering
wheel!” she protested with a laugh. “Come on, split it with me.”

With a martyred sigh, Rose picked up another plate. She divided the portions, stubbornly leaving sixty percent of the food for Ella. “I worry about you,” Rose said. “I can’t help you catch criminals, but at least I can make sure you’re well fed and healthy. Don’t deny me that.”

The simplicity of the statement and the strong emotions
behind it made a warm rush of affection course through Ella. For a moment, she could see herself in her mother, and her mother in her. The need to provide comfort, to be needed, was very much a part of them both.

Ella observed the way her mother held her fork, and for a moment was entranced by how similar their hands were. The bond that held them as mother and daughter was stronger now that they
were both widows. Recognizing and sharing each other’s pain had drawn them together in a way good times never could have.

The telephone rang just as Ella finished her last bite. She walked to the counter and picked up the kitchen extension.

“Yazzie’s been under almost constant supervision,” Big Ed informed her. “He most definitely has
not
left the facility at any time. They are just as worried
about a homicidal ex-cop as we are.”

“What about telephone calls?”

“He talks to his lawyer, of course, and those conversations are privileged, but that’s about it. I spoke with my cousin’s wife who works there, and she said that the staff is intimidated by him, and so are the other patients. She claims that weird things are always happening around Yazzie. It got so bad that Administration was
forced to hire more guards to keep everyone calm.”

“Weird how? This is a mental facility, right? You would expect things to be a little, well, different.”

“I asked her that too. She said that one of the nurses had lost an earring and for days had everyone looking for it. Peterson handed it to her one morning when she was there with the orderlies taking his vital signs for a routine checkup.
She swears she’d never been in his room before, and the duty logs back that up. And Peterson had been confined to his room that whole week after throwing a tray at an orderly. Of course there are many possible explanations, but things like that unnerve those who’ve heard rumors of his … powers.”

“So basically it’s quite possible he intimidated someone into carrying a letter out for him,” Ella
concluded.

“That’s about it, and likewise for him to have heard something he could use as a basis for his reference to the ash painting. Gossip travels at lightning speed.”

“I’d like to go over there first thing tomorrow to see what else I can find out.”

“I’d recommend it, then get back to me. Anything new on the murder so far?”

“Not yet.”

*   *   *

After dinner, Ella sat in the living room
with her mother. Ella had been trying to learn to knit and was starting with a basic sweater, but the results were far from stellar. She ripped out the last three rows, noticing she’d made a mistake in the pattern. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out for domestic things.

Still, it was something to do for now. Inactivity bothered her. The letter had disturbed her more than she dared let on. She planned
on staying close to the house tonight. Although she doubted anyone would openly attack her home, lessons of the past were hard to forget and dangerous to ignore. She thought for a moment about Dog, out chasing rabbits and reconfirming his territory. He’d bark if anyone approached.

“I’m glad you’re home tonight,” Rose said, spinning wool on her wheel.

“Are you worried, Mom? I really don’t think…”

Rose shook her head. “No. It’s just nice to have you here, and not working on reports for once.”

“It’s good to be home.” Ella glanced at her knitting and finally put it down. “But I’ve made an amazing discovery. If I had to knit for a living, I’d starve.”

Rose laughed. “You’re too impatient, that’s all. You expect to be an expert in two days.”

“Mom, there is such a thing as aptitude.” She held
up a wavy section supposed to be bottom ribbing. “This isn’t going to be my thing.”

“You have to find yourself a hobby, daughter. Something to occupy you besides your work.”

“I agree, but I’m now sure it isn’t going to involve yarn or thread.” Ella walked to her desk and retrieved the cleaning kit for her gun from the drawer. Unloading and clearing the chamber of her pistol, she began working
on the slide with a soft cloth.

Rose sighed. “There
has
to be something I can interest you in!”

“I have to clean and oil the action, Mom, and I might as well do it now, unless it’ll bother you.”

Rose sighed. “No. Go ahead.”

An uneasy calm descended as they each worked at their respective tasks. Rose had turned on a Navajo-language radio station, and Ella kept her ears tuned for the news. There
was mercifully little coverage on the bus accident and Dodge’s murder, and only a little more on yesterday’s kidnapping and suicide in Farmington. At least for now.

Ella finished cleaning her weapon, loaded it again, then carefully placed it back in the holster. It was nearly ten, and she was tired.

She walked to one of the darkened windows in the kitchen and looked outside. The moon was full,
illuminating the ground clearly. Everything looked calm and peaceful. She closed her eyes as she had at Haske’s hogan and tried to draw strength from the desert itself. A vague prickle of fear seeped through her instead.

She was just too keyed up, that was all. She needed to get some sleep. The problem was she doubted she’d be successful at that tonight.

As she turned, Ella saw her mother standing
there with a glass of herbal tea. “It will help you relax. I know that letter upset you.”

Ella took the tea. “I’ll take the note into the office tomorrow first thing. Maybe Justine can lift a print or two, and we’ll find out who Yazzie’s got helping him.”

Rose nodded slowly. “I’m glad your cousin is working with you. At times like these, it’s good to have family around you.”

Ella met her mother’s
eyes. “You’re expecting the worst?”

“I feel the disharmony all these troubles have brought to us. I’m trying to prepare,” Rose answered frankly, then returned to the spinning wheel in the living room.

*   *   *

Shortly after daybreak Ella dropped the letter on Justine’s desk with her instructions. By seven, she was on her way to the psychiatric facility on the other side of Farmington, on the
Bloomfield highway.

Throughout the drive she could feel her tension mounting. Peterson was a master at mind games, and he had learned to intimidate others while still a cop. Manipulating the hospital staff was something that would appeal enormously to him. What would positively delight him, however, was knowing he’d put one over on her. The thought angered Ella. She would find his accomplice
and end this new charade of his.

Peterson, despite his cunning, had always underestimated her, and that had led to his downfall before. His own colossal ego would never even consider the possibility that they were evenly matched.

Ella arrived forty-five minutes later at the Hilltop Psychiatric Hospital, which was located on a barren knoll overlooking the banks of the San Juan River two miles
away. Ella noted with satisfaction that the two-story building was constructed more like a jail than a hospital. Windows were missing from the ground floor entirely, and those on the second floor were too small to allow an adult to exit. Razor-wire topped tall inner and outer fences, and guards at the gates made unauthorized visits or departures unlikely.

When an armed security guard escorted
her through the locked entrance, Ella noted the quiet efficiency of the place and approved.

After identifying herself, Ella was ushered to Dr. Ray Kring’s office by an orderly. As director of the facility, Kring had acquired a reputation for keeping things running smoothly.

Ella’s news concerning the letter took the salt-and-pepper-haired Anglo by complete surprise.

“I cannot imagine who would
have mailed that for him. The only letters he’s ever written are to his attorney. I see the sealed envelopes myself. I’ve made it a point to know everything that concerns
that
patient.”

“I’m not here to blame anyone, Dr. Kring, but I do think this matter warrants looking into.”

“Yes, of course. Let me show you the security we maintain around Yazzie. I don’t take anything for granted when it
comes to any of our patients. We’ve increased the number of armed guards on each shift to four, and there are twice that number of trained orderlies on hand.”

“Has Yazzie had any visitors lately?”

“Only his lawyer.” Dr. Kring stood, and Ella noted how tall the doctor was. At five foot ten, she wasn’t used to looking up at women or men on the Rez.

“How about friends or relatives?”

“Friends—
him?
” Kring strode to the door, holding it open as she passed through. “I don’t believe he’s capable of that.” He stopped by his secretary’s desk and glanced at a record book she handed him. “Perfect. He’s in the exercise yard right now. You can see for yourself.” Seeing the puzzled look she gave the log book, he added, “I require a record of where Yazzie is being held at all times.”

The precaution
made her stomach tighten. She could sense their fear, and in her own experience with Peterson, knew it was justified. Kring led the way down a long, well-lit hall, then up the stairs. Along one wall were several tiny windows. A Navajo guard stood at one, watching below.

Kring gestured for her to join him. “Yazzie can’t see you through this glass. It’s one-way.”

Ella stepped up and looked down
at the interior exercise yard below. The presence of one guard for each inmate, and the doughnut shape of the hospital, made even that area high security. She located Peterson Yazzie a second later sitting on one of the concrete benches as two other maximum-security patient-inmates played a game of basketball. Peterson’s face was neutral, and he made no move to join the game, though she knew he
was particularly fond of the sport.

Ella noticed how neither of the players would look in Peterson’s direction, even when they had to go near him to retrieve the ball. “They’re scared of him, aren’t they?”

“Terrified is more like it,” Kring answered. “He played once, and neither man would guard him close or try to block his shots. Yazzie got really mad. Then, two days later, both guys started
coming down with the flu. Of course the story got around that he’d caused the illness. Some continue to argue the guy’s just a con artist, but I notice it’s never within earshot of Yazzie.”

The guard watching from the next window cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind an opinion…”