Death Walker (27 page)

“Have you noticed, too, that the ones killed are the people most likely to know how to combat Navajo witches?”

“Yes, they were both experts in our culture,” Ella said. She gazed downhill toward the San Juan valley, where the town of Shiprock lay. “The killer is close by, I can feel it. He’s within my reach, if only I can identify him.”

“Keep trusting your gift, little sister. It will never lead you astray, no matter how confusing the evidence may get.”

“All cops rely on instinct. Since mine, as you know, is extremely sharp, I’d be a fool not to trust it,” she answered softly.

He nodded in approval. “Maybe you’re finally ready to accept a little present I’ve been keeping for you, just waiting for the right time.”

Ella looked
at Clifford quizzically. “Now you’ve got me curious.”

He reached inside the medicine pouch attached to his belt. “This was given to me years ago by a medicine man from another tribe. I want you to have it now. It’s a hunting fetish that will heighten your awareness.”

Ella expected a mountain lion, or perhaps a sharp-eyed eagle. She stared at the small carving in her brother’s palm, puzzled.
“I’m not sure I know what it is,” Ella said, taking it and studying it more closely.

“It’s a badger. The powers associated with the animal the fetish represents are magnified in the human who ‘feeds’ and cares for it. Badgers are skillful fighters, and generally give an account of themselves all out of proportion to their size. The qualities associated with a badger, and those who carry its fetish,
are courage, tenacity, and self-confidence.”

Ella grinned. “Badgers are phenomenal diggers too. Maybe that’ll work hand in paw with the cop in me.”

Clifford shook his head. “No, don’t joke about it. It’s a gift that can be very special, if you let it be.”

“It already is, because you gave it to me. I’ll carry it with me always,” Ella said, placing it in her jacket pocket.

“Find answers soon,”
he warned. “I don’t like the way fear is spreading among our people. And if the pattern continues, those who can carry on our ways will soon disappear. Then our people will be as helpless as they were during the Civil War, when we were prisoners at Bosque Redondo. Evil will have claimed a victory over us. This time, however, the damage will be permanent. We may end up losing all our culture. We
have very few left who know the old ways.”

She nodded slowly. “I’m aware of
all
the dangers, including those that come from moving too fast.”

“Do you want me to go with you next time you see Peterson? I may be able to spot something, an inconsistency, a trick, that you may not see.”

Ella considered his offer. “No. I don’t want to pull any surprises on him just yet. He underestimates me, and
as long as he does, that gives me an advantage.”

Clifford shrugged. “My presence would put him on his guard instantly, that’s true enough,” he agreed. “He and I have too much past history of fighting each other.” He pursed his lips and gazed at her thoughtfully. “But, then again, so have you. Do you realize that?”

“Yes, but Peterson still sees me as your little sister. He thinks of me as a threat,
sure, but a manageable one.”

“Then that is his weakness, and the only card you’ll have against him. But it won’t last. Each little victory you have will make him wiser.”

“I’m aware of that,” Ella admitted.

“If he is involved, do you think the victims are ones he’s chosen?” Clifford asked.

“I don’t think so. If they were, then you would have been the first to die, brother.”

“You’re absolutely
right about that. Peterson wouldn’t have passed up a chance, and no one has threatened me in any way.”

“I will catch whoever’s committing these murders but, in the meantime, watch after Loretta and yourself, okay? I think you are in danger from the one who killed the others.”

Leaving Clifford to finish his ritual preparations, she walked down to where she’d parked. A vague uneasiness kept her
alert. She made a visual search of the immediate area, but nothing seemed out of place. Slipping behind the wheel, she attuned herself to that special sixth sense that had kept her in one piece throughout the years. Slowly she forced herself to relax. No, she wasn’t in any immediate danger here, nor was her brother. Her restlessness was too unfocused, more a feeling of impending danger than an imminent
one.

Hating the annoying, spine-chilling sensation that seemed to have become her familiar companion, she started the engine and put the car in gear. It was time to pick up Justine.

*   *   *

Ella finally arrived back at Naomi Zah’s late in the afternoon. She’d had precious little to eat, and her stomach growled in protest. As she stopped in front of the hogan, Justine stepped out of the six-sided
log structure. She had the mug books in hand, and looked tired as she came to the car.

“What happened?” Ella asked, getting out and tossing the keys to Justine.

“Naomi’s gone. Her nephew came by on horseback, ponying a mare. They left together. Her sister isn’t feeling well. The nephew asked Naomi to come tell her what’s wrong so a Singer can do the appropriate Sing. Naomi said that she’d be
back tonight. We’ll have to bring the mug books back then so she can finish looking them over.”

“All right. In the meantime you and I have work. It’s past time for a strategy meeting. We can do that during the drive back.”

Ella organized her thoughts as Justine headed for the highway. “Why do you think the first two victims were targeted?” she asked.

“They had great expertise; we already decided
that.”

Ella shook her head. “No, I mean why those particular men? There are others.”

“He probably decided to pick at random from those who fit his criteria. My guess is those were the most available.”

Ella considered it. “Plausible theory. The first murder gave the killer all possible advantage. His victim had no reason to expect trouble. The next target he selected was one who’d been aware
of the first killing, but felt his capabilities would be more than a match for the perp. His overconfidence gave the killer the advantage again.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, let’s analyze the style of murder, not the method. In both cases the victim was incapacitated first,
then
killed. During the last few minutes of the victim’s life, the murderer is in full control.”

“Are you saying that’s his signature?
His need to have the victims helpless before he finishes them?”

“That and the bone. If I’m correct about this, no matter how he changes his M.O., that signature will remain the same in future victims. And with this individual, there
will
be more victims until we put a stop to him.”

Ella thought for a moment, then continued. “So let’s see what else we can put together about this guy. He’s into
power—power over his victims at least. He wants total control before finalizing the kill. He strikes very early in the morning, so he could have a job he has to go to later, or maybe a class. I’d be willing to bet, since he knows the victims’ schedules, he’s watched them for a while before attacking. I think he would enjoy the power of knowing who the next to die is, and that it’s all in his hands.
He’s probably thrilled that so many people are afraid now.”

Justine shuddered. “Great. We’ve got a sociopath who gets off on having the power over life and death. He’s so proud of himself he even collects trophies.”

“Let’s review our physical profile of the killer. He’s male, young, and relatively strong; we saw that from the strangulation of Dodge. The neck was nearly severed by the leather
shoelace. But he’s not an overpowering guy. He used a club to knock out the first victim, and a car on the Singer, who was bigger and stronger. He’s almost certainly Navajo, or would pass for one. Anglos still are easily noticed and remembered around here. He fits the category of an organized killer, so right there, we know even more things about him.”

“Like what? I’m not really up on this behavioral
science stuff. I’ve been trained to examine mostly physical evidence.”

“The organized offender likes the hunt. He’s predatory. His background will often show that as a kid he was truant from school, and he stocked up an impressive list of suspensions. He lives by the code that rules are meant to be broken, and he’ll have spent time coming up with ways to get away with as much as possible.”

“That describes a lot of kids nowadays, even around here.”

“That’s true, but the rest of the pattern will help narrow down the search. As an adult he probably has had trouble keeping a job. He also has a really tough time taking criticism. He won’t have a steady girlfriend, unless he feels he’s in total control of her. But the one glaring trait that will mark who and what he is will also make
him harder to catch. This guy’s going to be a chronic liar, and accomplished at it. He’ll also be incapable of feeling guilt, so he’d probably be able to beat a lie-detector test.”

“Just talking about this guy gives me the creeps,” Justine admitted. “It could be anyone. He’s hiding behind a mask, and that means he’s got an incredible chance to study his victims in perfect safety.”

“Power. He
craves it. And if he’s a skinwalker wannabe, that whole scene feeds his fantasies. The powerful Navajo Wolf. He stalks, he kills. But he stays in the shadows. He likes the thrill of that on-the-edge existence.”

“I think he’s playing a game with us by doing things like, leaving the ash painting and the medicine pouch.”

“He’s testing us, and himself,” Ella answered.

Ella had Justine pull into
the diner a few miles from the station, and they ordered a couple of sandwiches to go. “I don’t want to take a formal dinner break, but you look as if you need something to eat as badly as I do.”

Justine agreed, “I’m famished.”

As the women ate chicken sandwiches in the car, Justine drove them on to the station.

“How’s the search for evidence coming along?” Ella asked as they continued down
the highway. “Anything new?”

“I’ve checked everywhere, from car washes to dealerships, searching for the car that struck the Singer. Nobody’s come in with a vehicle showing front-end damage that would be consistent with having struck down a man. I even checked the car washes thinking that, at the very least, the killer would want to make sure he removed all traces of blood.”

“He may have taken
care of that with a hose at his home.”

“True.”

Ella waited until Justine parked, then handed her the folder with Victor’s sketch. “Make as many copies of this as possible, and circulate them among law enforcement personnel only. I want everyone on the lookout, but I don’t want the suspect to know we have an idea what he looks like. He might decide to change his appearance, if he hasn’t already.”
Ella left Justine’s vehicle and walked to her own. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What are you going to be doing?”

“While you’re working on the evidence here, I’m going back to Naomi Zah’s to wait for her.”

Justine nodded. “Okay, boss. I think I’ll start by checking to see if there’s been a fax from the bureau.”

Ella pulled back out onto the highway. She was tired, but she had to go back to Naomi’s
if there was even the remotest chance of the stargazer identifying one of the mug shots. She picked up the mike and asked the dispatcher to raise Officer Neskahi and have him meet her on TAC two on the radio. A moment later, her mike came alive with a voice breaking through the static.

“This is 143 to Unit calling. Go.”

Ella depressed the button to transmit and identified herself. “How did it
go when you delivered the CB to Naomi Zah? Is she at ease with it?”

“No, not really. While I was trying to teach her how to use it, she hung back, as if she wasn’t sure which of us she distrusted most, me or the CB.”

Ella swallowed an oath. “As long as you taught her how to use it, she’ll reach for it if there’s an emergency.”

Ella pulled up in front of the hogan an hour later. It was pitch
black outside, but at least the moon was starting to come out from behind the clouds.

Naomi came to the entrance and waved at her, inviting her to come inside. The soft flicker of a kerosene-powered lamp glowed from within.

Ella gathered the mug shot books and went inside. The light was brighter there, but it was still dimmer than she would have preferred. “Can you see those photos clearly?
Maybe I can drive you to a café or something.”

Naomi laughed. “I can see just fine. If you’re hungry, I can heat up some stew and you can have a can of peaches.”

“No, I’m okay. I’d rather have you look through these books than fuss over me.”

Time seemed to drag as Naomi turned page after page, carefully examining each photo. “None of these faces look right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am,” Naomi
said, leafing through the last of the thick volumes.

Ella stood up and stretched her cramped knees. She walked to the doorway and peered out. The moon was bright, and the clouds, at least for now, were gone. The dry plateau looked as if it had been painted in a variety of blue grays.

Naomi Zah was watching her as she turned around. “I could try to use my crystal again. Maybe I’ll get something
this time that can help you.” The old woman picked up a small pouch and pulled out a quartz crystal. “Would you accept this type of help?”

“I’ll be grateful for anything that points me in the right direction,” Ella said, wondering if perhaps Naomi needed that to jog her own memory. Cursing herself for not having thought of it sooner, she gave Naomi an encouraging smile. “Please try.”

“Sometimes
it takes a while,” Naomi warned, “and sometimes it doesn’t happen at all.”

“That’s okay. Time is not important.”

Naomi regarded her for a long moment. “You’re restless, though. I don’t think I can do this around you. I’ll go outside and stand under the stars behind the hogan. Don’t interrupt me.”

“I won’t. I’ll be close by though, okay?”

Naomi walked outside and stood facing west, the crystal
in her palm. She stared into it as if mesmerized.

Ella watched for several long moments, but Naomi seemed oblivious to everything around her. Ella listened to the chirping of the cicadas, their rhythmic, familiar sound soothing her nerves.