Death Walker (31 page)

Ella showered and dressed, then rented a car. She’d drive to the Columbus police department’s downtown station to get whatever details were available from them.

Twenty-five minutes later, she parked next to the building and went inside. Ella identified herself at the front desk, and a red-haired sergeant came up from the back of the room.

“We’ve been expecting
you, Investigator Clah. Your police chief called to ask for our cooperation. I’ve pulled the file you wanted.” He offered Ella a cup of coffee and a chair next to his desk, then handed her a manila folder. “Everything we’ve got is in there, but it’s not much. I noticed the victim and you have the same last name. Was this a relative of yours?”

Ella nodded, and looked the sergeant in the eye. “He
was my husband.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, er … Investigator.”

“That’s okay,” Ella answered, silently agreeing that the accident report inside the file would probably be practically useless to her.

“Can I get you a doughnut?” the sergeant asked, his voice indicating he was trying to somehow make up for the scanty file.

Ella shook her head and began studying the diagrams of the accident scene. Finally
the officer’s notes at the bottom caught her eye. “I wasn’t aware that there had been a hit-and-run aspect to this.”

He glanced at the report. “This happened about fifteen years ago, so I’ve got to tell you I’m not at all familiar with this case.” He studied the notes, then shrugged. “I would assume this is accurate. Your husband ran off the road, and head-on into a tree. According to the medical
reports he hadn’t been drinking or taking any medication. The investigating officer noted sideswipe marks on his vehicle, but they could have been there prior to the accident. Since there weren’t any witnesses, and he wasn’t able to track down any other driver, the case was closed.”

“Can I talk to the officer who made out this report?”

“Only if you talk really loud,” the sergeant joked, then
his face suddenly reddened as he realized what he’d said. “He’s been dead for about eight years.”

Ella glanced back at the report.

“Hey, no offense meant,” he added hastily.

“None taken.” She jotted down the location where the accident had occurred. “Where exactly is this?”

“About a mile west of the base, Fort Benning. I guess he was on his way there.”

“Thanks.” Ella shook hands with the
sergeant, almost out of practice now. On the reservation, one never touched a stranger.

As Ella walked out, she made up her mind to check at the base. Maybe someone there would remember Eugene or his father. If they’d met unexpectedly just before the accident, Eugene wouldn’t have had the chance to tell her about it.

Ella showed her ID at the gate, then waited as her request to enter Fort Benning
was processed. Twenty minutes later, at ranger headquarters, she was informed that none of the officers her husband had served under was still stationed there.

As a courtesy, the public information officer offered to take her to her husband’s grave. Ella hesitated, then shook her head. Seeing the puzzled look on the young man’s face, and knowing that he had been trying to be helpful, she explained.
“My people don’t view death in the same way yours do. My husband’s accomplishments and the man he was have nothing to do with the body in that grave.”

He seemed to accept that. “Yes, I understand. In my own religion it’s much the same way. We believe the spirit goes on. It’s just that we still feel the need to visit the gravesites.”

“With us, it’s the opposite,” Ella said, but didn’t elaborate.

Ella left the base thinking it hadn’t been a wasted trip. She couldn’t prove that her father-in-law had played a part in Eugene’s death, but she was nearly certain he had. The name, the lack of originality in it, Randall Clah’s absence from the station—all made an impressive circumstantial case.

She wondered if Peterson had known beforehand that she wouldn’t be able to prove anything. The thought
rankled her, and her hatred for the man grew. Even locked up, he continued to play a part in her life.

Ella returned to her hotel room. It wasn’t noon yet, but her mission here had been completed. After checking out, she went straight to the airport. Right now her first priority was to get home and get back to work on the murder case.

While she was waiting for reservation information, Ella checked
with her office. The initial news from Justine had set her mind at ease. She had managed to get a court order prohibiting Peterson from having visitors. But there were no new leads to the killer. Ella was sorely needed back on the case.

Ella flew standby, unable to get reservations all the way through. By the time she took her seat on the flight from Dallas to Albuquerque, the tension of an uncertain
day had taken its toll. She felt exhausted. Finally however, she was well on her way home. She stared outside, but the skies seemed to be filled with clouds, and it was impossible to find any reference point except the lights on the wings. As the ride became bumpy, Ella reached into her pocket, then remembered the fetish was still back home. Air turbulence. She hated it. Taking the headphones
from the back of the seat in front of her, she plugged them in and listened to classical music.

When the flight attendant came by offering coffee, Ella opted for one of the little pillows instead. Maybe she could try to catch up on her sleep. She had at least an hour’s flight time ahead of her, then another short hop to Farmington. Ella shifted until she found a comfortable position, then closed
her eyes. Soon she felt her body become light as tension washed out of her.

“I hate to bother you, but it’s time you and I had a chat,” she heard a voice whisper near her ear.

Ella blinked her eyes open, wishing she’d been allowed to go to sleep. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the face beside her.

Peterson Yazzie smiled at her. “You didn’t really think you could elude me,
did you?”

Yazzie sat in the seat beside her, leaning close, his back to the other passengers. His hand, shielded from the view of the others in the cabin, held a gleaming blade.

Ella felt it slice through the skin beneath her rib cage. There was no place to escape. She grabbed his hand, hoping to pull it back, but he was too strong. Pain washed over her in waves, sapping her strength. Soon the
blade would find its mark and kill her. The roar of the jet’s engines filled her ears. She wondered why the last sound she heard couldn’t have been music.

“Enough!” A voice cut through her pain, and she felt a pair of strong hands shaking her by the shoulders.

Ella suddenly opened her eyes wide, her lungs sucking in air. For a moment, nothing registered. Blinking, she stared at the stranger
who’d taken the seat next to her. He smiled and let go of her.

“Who are you?” she asked. The handsome, gray-eyed Anglo was definitely not Peterson Yazzie.

“I was sitting across the aisle, and I thought for a moment that you were ill. Then I realized you were having a bad dream. I decided to wake you. I hope I did the right thing.”

Ella winced as she touched the spot where she’d felt the lethal
jab of the blade. It was sore, as if a sharp object had been jammed into her. She ran her hand around the edge of the seat, wondering if something had poked her and she’d incorporated that into her dream. Yet, despite her thoroughness, she found nothing that would explain it.

Ella suddenly realized that the stranger was watching her curiously. She must have looked like someone whose brain cells
constantly misfired.

“A vivid dream, nothing more,” Ella said for her own benefit as much as his.

He nodded. “I’m Charles Meles,” he said.

Ella noticed the trace of an accent. “Thank you for waking me,” she answered. “My name is Ella. Are you from this part of the country?”

“No, I’m from a little village south of Paris, France. I’m here on holiday. I’m on my way to Arizona to see your much-talked-about
Grand Canyon.”

“I hope you’ll find it as breathtaking as I always have.”

Meles smiled. “I’ll be close by to awaken you again should you have another disturbing dream.”

Ella watched the gentleman return to his seat across the aisle. For a moment she couldn’t figure out if it had really been just a vivid dream, or some of Peterson’s skinwalker magic at work. A posthypnotic suggestion, perhaps?
She felt angry and tired, and her side was still sore. At least the turbulence had stopped, and she wasn’t going to be jostled around for a while.

She walked to the restroom at the front of the cabin. There, in the privacy of that closet-sized enclosure, she lifted her blouse and checked her side. A bright red mark, like a burn, was just beneath her rib cage. Of course, it meant nothing. She’d
somehow injured her side, or been bitten by an insect, and in her dream state incorporated that into a jumble of her worst fears. Ella clung to that explanation, needing the safety of logic, as she returned to her seat.

Ella had just settled in when the flight attendant came by and asked if she wanted some coffee. Ella nodded. At least that would keep her awake. She wouldn’t sleep anymore on
this journey.

*   *   *

Ella reached the Farmington airport shortly after ten, tired and sore. Her Jeep was still where she’d left it, and she strolled across the parking lot, enjoying the breeze. It felt good to be home. The nighttime air was cool, and she felt comfortable in the low humidity of the desert.

Ella wondered if anything more had happened here during her long flight. She worried
about Betty Lott, and the effects of Peterson’s influence on her. It bothered her to think he would try to corrupt someone so young, someone who was obviously no match for him or his games.

As she parked next to her home, Rose came out to greet Ella. “I’m so glad you’re back early.”

Ella felt the tension within her tighten. “Has something happened?”

“No,” Rose answered. “I just didn’t like
having you so far from the reservation. It reminded me too much of when you used to live away. I guess I was worried that you would remember too.”

Ella picked up her overnight case and glanced at her mother, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t want you to start missing your old life,” Rose explained, walking with Ella to her room.

“Actually, I missed my
new
life,” she confessed. “I belong
here now. Back there in Georgia all I could think of was the work I left here, waiting.”

“Ah, it’s not the reservation, but your work.”

“They’re joined now, part of the larger whole.”

Rose nodded slowly and smiled. “Well, you do sound more like one of us with each day that passes.”

Ella retrieved her badger fetish from the floor, where it had fallen, and slipped it into her pocket. It belonged
with her. She wouldn’t leave it behind ever again. Ella watched as her mother picked over the clothing she’d dumped out of her traveling bag, adding the few items to the weekly laundry. It was the time of year when running a washer and dryer was best done in the cool evening hours. In their own ways, they were both compulsive. Rose was meticulous about her home, Ella about her work. They should
have understood each other years ago and forged the closeness they now shared.

Sometimes, however, it took the passage of years to bring appreciation of what should have been apparent all along. Ella helped her mother carry the load of whites into the kitchen, where the washing machine and dryer were.

“How’s Loretta doing?” Ella asked.

“She’s being very careful, and not going out much. She
went to the doctor yesterday, and they told her to keep doing what she’s doing.” Rose placed the clothes into the washer, then gestured toward the calendar. “By the way, Wilson Joe is coming for dinner Sunday. I’ve already invited him.”

Ella looked at her mother. She should have expected this. Her mother was not the type to let the matter drop. “Carolyn could use some friendly company right now
too. She has the loneliest job on the Rez. Can I ask her to come?”

Rose hesitated. “Is it important to you?”

“I would like her to come here and feel welcome. I know you’ve never really liked her, but she’s a very nice person.”

“Women shouldn’t do what she does for a living.”

“The same could be said for me,” Ella pointed out gently.

“It’s not the same thing at all. She’s older, and has given
up on ever having a family, for whatever reason.”

“I don’t think Carolyn would agree with you. Besides, she lives her life the best way she knows how. I think it hurts her to have people treating her the way they do.”

Rose considered it. “Yes, you may be right about that. She is as isolated as you were when you first came, only with her, it’s worse. She never left so she has no friends on the
outside either.” Rose nodded. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. You can call her then.”

Ella smiled. She knew she could count on Rose’s mothering instinct. She’d never been able to withhold comfort or nurturing when she sensed she was needed. “I’ll call her from the office. I have to go in early. I’ll let you know if she’s coming as soon as possible.”

Ella poured herself a glass of her mother’s tea, then
stretched and yawned. “I’ll talk to Justine and Big Ed tomorrow. They’ll be glad to hear I didn’t need the extra time. But for now, I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Good night, then, daughter. Sleep well.”

Ella had just started back to her room when the telephone rang. Beside it already, she answered it.

Justine’s voice came through clearly. “I was hoping you’d be home.”

“Is something wrong?”

“You
could say that. Peterson Yazzie has escaped.”

Ella’s mouth fell open, but she gathered herself quickly. “When, and how?”

“He must have had help from the inside. Dr. Kring is questioning his staff now. Peterson’s door was kept locked, but it was discovered wide open. I was told that only the head nurse and the guard have keys to the room.”

“Where are they now?”

“They found the guard who patrols
the ward knocked unconscious, and don’t have his story yet. They’re still searching for the nurse.”