She Who Watches (11 page)

After the initial examination of the feet, legs, and torso, Kristen turned her attention to the head and neck area. She noted some purple and blue striations on the neck, making a verbal note into her dictation device that she needed to check the esophagus for evidence of ligature strangulation.

“See these marks?” Kristen pointed, stopping her dictation. “Looks like there was something wrapped around her neck and face. Grab my blue light, Henry.”

Henry shut off the lights and handed Kristen a simple-looking light with a special blue bulb on the end, covered by a red plastic shield on one side. Kristen waived the wand over the body, finding nothing other than soil until the special lighting reached the head and neck area. The striations took form now, showing wide, structured patterns on the neck. She shut off the light after taking measurements and recording the information on the Dictaphone. Henry turned the lights back on while Kristen stood back from the table and thought for a moment.

“What do you think?” Mac asked, knowing the look on Kristen's face.

“Duct tape would be my guess, something that was tightly wrapped around her face and neck. You guys better take some scrapings from her face, hair, and wrists. I wouldn't be surprised if we found evidence of some type of resin or glue on her.”

Kristen examined the hands of the victim more closely, this time with a magnifying glass. “Her nails are trimmed down to the pad under the nail. They are cut right into the dermis. No woman would keep her nails like this.” Kristen raised the right hand for Dana to view.

“You're right. First of all, it would be too painful. Look how uneven they are; I'm surprised they aren't bloody in spots,” Dana added.

“Probably because she was dead when they were cut,” Kristen noted. “No heartbeat, no blood pumping. Her killer apparently took great care to remove the bindings and trim the fingernails, along with all the clothing. Too bad. We might have found forensic evidence on her clothes. This creep put quite a bit of thought into it.” Her jaw clenched. “He knew exactly what he was doing.”

Kristen moved up to examine the eyes and the nose, noting some hemorrhaging characteristics on the whites of the eyes that evidenced lack of oxygen. “I can't say for sure if she was choked or strangled, gang, but there is evidence of oxygen deprivation.”

Doc Thorpe put her left hand on the victim's forehead and her right palm on the chin, forcing open the jaw with a crack. “We have something inside the mouth. Give me some light here, Henry.” She held the mouth open while Nate photographed the object and moved aside so Kristen could remove it. “It's some kind of leather pouch or something.”

Kristen set the object on the table, turning over the small brown leather object to reveal the same kind of intricate beadwork they'd found on the object they'd recovered near the body.

Dana told her about the find. “The leather and bead coloring look like a match. What do you guys think?”

Nate took several more photos. “Hard to tell. But I'd say it's a good guess.”

“I have the piece we found so we can compare.” Mac retrieved the evidence bag. The beaded leather piece the dog had unearthed looked like it had been a flap over the pouch and had been torn away. Mac pulled the item from the evidence bag, smoothing the wrinkled leather with his gloved hands. He examined that piece alongside the larger section that Kristen had pulled from the victim's mouth, comparing the beadwork and leather. “It's a match, all right.”

“There's something inside the pouch.” Kristen pulled open the leather string and withdrew a small round stone, which she set on the examination table. “There's something I haven't seen before.” Kristen stepped back so Nate could photograph it.

Mac moved in for a closer look. Carved into the face of the stone was a crude image of a catlike face or possibly an image of a raccoon.

“Tsagagalal.”Nate peered down at the image. He looked back up at the others, stunned and obviously disturbed. “The leather pouch is a talisman of some sort. According to Native American tradition, it has many uses. The image on the stone is that of Tsagagalal.”

“Which, in English, means what?” Mac asked.

“She Who Watches. It's one of the Indian stone idols.”

“Do you know this for sure, Nathan?” Kristen bent down to examine the object.

“Yes, I'm sure.” He stepped back. “There is a well-known legend behind the image. I don't know if it has anything to do with the case or not.”

“Spill it.” Kristen smiled, and this time it was genuine. “I love this stuff.”

“I would have to go to an elder for the entire story, but I can tell you what I know. This is the story told by the Wishram people.

“A woman had a house where the village of Nixluidix was later built. She was chief of all who lived in the region. That was a long time before Coyote came up the river and changed things and people were not yet real people. After a time, Coyote in his travels came to this place and asked the inhabitants if they were living well or ill. They sent him to their chief, who lived up on the rocks, where she could look down on the village and know what was going on.

“Coyote climbed up to the house on the rocks and asked, ‘What kind of living do you give these people? Do you treat them well or are you one of those evil women?'

“ ‘I am teaching them to live well and build good houses,' she replied.

“ ‘Soon the world will change,' said Coyote, ‘and women will no longer be chiefs.' Then he changed her into a rock with the command, ‘You shall stay here and watch over the people who live here.'

“All the people know that Tsagagalal sees all things, for whenever they are looking at her, those large eyes are watching them.”

“Fascinating,” Kristen said.

“Yes.” Nate smiled. “She Who Watches has also been called the stone Owl Woman Who Watches. Indian women sometimes go to the stone and kneel before it. They say something like, ‘You who watch, please look into me and see my problem and help me to solve it.' A ray of light comes down to shine on the stone face then. After the woman goes to her teepee to sleep, a dream comes, telling her how to deal with the problem. That woman may go again to the stone, and the ray of light comes down again on the stone, and the next dream gives her even more details as to how to solve the problem.”

“Wow. So the original stone is still around?” Dana asked.

“Yes,” said Nate. “The original stone is ten thousand years old, and it is sacred to our people.”

“Where is it?” Mac asked.

“On the Washington side of the river across from The Dalles. It's both petroglyph and pictograph, which means it is both carved and painted. I've actually been there with my grandfather. It's amazing. The image of She Who Watches is a symbol of protection for many of our people and for neighboring tribes in the Northwest. I could only guess what meaning it has here. I'll take some photos back to our tribal elders so they can confirm my initial impression, but I'm ninety-nine percent sure that's the correct image. I'd also like their opinion on the authenticity of the piece, see if they have an opinion on the artist.”

“That is wild.” Kristen looked back at the body. “How does a professional woman like Sara Watson get tangled up in a mess that ends up with this type of ritualistic message, whatever that message is?”

“That's what we're going to have to find out, I guess.” Dana's gaze moved back to the beaded pouch.

“I have an idea,” Mac said.

“Let's hear it,” Dana and Kristen said in unison.

“Sara is Senator Wilde's niece. He's the majority leader who could swing the vote on the Native American casino in the gorge.”

“That's right.” Dana's eyes lighted up. “There was some speculation that the tribe was behind Sara's disappearance. Maybe those articles weren't as bogus as the federal agents led us to believe.”

“You think one of my people killed this girl to put pressure on her uncle to vote for a casino?” Nate asked, sounding insulted.

“Maybe they didn't intend to kill her,” Dana replied. “Maybe it started out as a kidnapping to scare the senator into doing what they wanted.”

“No offense intended,” Mac added. “You have to admit that finding her with that pouch in her mouth is highly suspicious. It's an idea that bears checking out.”

“You'd think the feds would have told us if they thought there was anything to the articles suggesting Native American involvement.” Dana eyed the pouch and stone again.

“Would they? You and I both thought they were holding out on us.”

“I don't know, Mac.” Dana bit her lip. “They saw that torn piece of beaded leather out at the body dumpsite. You'd think they would have said something then.”

“We better pay a visit to our agent friends when we're done with the post. I want to see if anyone's holding out information, so we don't put our foot in anything we aren't supposed to.”

“Don't you think we'd better contact the husband first?” Dana asked.

Remembering last night's argument, Mac agreed. He was getting ahead of himself. A visit to Scott Watson was in order for a number of reasons. “You're right,” Mac said. “We'll head over from here and take a black-and-white photo with us for ID.”

Kristen completed the autopsy in less than two hours, finding little of value in the internal examination of the body. She extracted body fluids to forward to the OSP lab for toxicology screens, in the event Sara had been poisoned. Though there was bruising on her throat, and some ligature marks, Sara's windpipe was intact, lending no physical evidence to point to strangulation as the cause of death.

Kristen had no comprehensive evidence to make her call, which was often the case. She finally gave them a tentative cause. “I'm going to rule the death a homicide due to asphyxiation, guys. The probable evidence of the duct tape remnants and the airway obstruction are pretty compelling items. I'll wait for the crime lab results before typing out the death certificate, but this is enough to give you a start.”

“Thanks, Kristen,” Mac said.

“Sure.” The tone was decidedly cool.

Mac hung behind the others, hoping for a chance to talk to Kristen alone. She, however, showed no indication she wanted to talk to him. With Henry still in the room, he decided not to wait around. Maybe he'd call her later. He wanted to know where he stood with her. On the other hand, maybe he didn't. “Women,” he muttered under his breath and headed outside.

TWELVE

N
ate opted to return home after the post, so they dropped him off at the station before taking the evidence to the lab and getting their photos developed. The OSP lab in Portland was in the same building as the Portland Police analysis units, often sharing specialized equipment, though the State Police scientists completed all the forensic work. On the way, Mac tried to reach the FBI agents but hit a dead end. Both men were unavailable until Monday. They dropped Nate off at their office parking compound and agreed to meet on Monday morning so they could all go over their case files with the feds.

“It must be nice to have the weekend off,” Dana commented as she pulled out into the street.

“Hmm. Looks like we're in for the long haul.” They'd be working the entire weekend doing background investigation and lining up potential players.

“Want to grab a bite to eat before we take care of the evidence and photos?” Dana asked.

“Thought you'd never ask.”

“Wendy's OK? I like their salads.”

Before he could answer, she pulled into a Wendy's parking lot.

“Let's go inside. We need to talk.”

Mac didn't like the sound of that. Had she noticed Kristen's frosty attitude toward him? He didn't want to discuss Kristen. Then again, maybe Dana wanted to talk about her own troubles. That he could handle. Maybe.

Once they'd ordered and taken their seats, Dana fidgeted with her napkin and poured dressing on her salad. “So what's the deal with Kristen?”

Mac held up a hand. “All I know is what she told me. Her ex was in an accident and not expected to live—she flew back to Florida. I was surprised to see her back here so soon. That's it.”

“Hmm. She must be exhausted. I guess that could explain her somber mood. But she sure was acting strange toward you.”

Mac shrugged. “I thought I'd call her later.”

Dana nodded. “What I really wanted to talk to you about was my attitude last night. I get cranky when I'm tired.”

Mac grinned. “No kidding.”

She kicked him under the table. “There's something else too. I've been getting strange calls.”

Mac sat up straighter. “Strange, like how?”

“It's annoying more than anything. The caller doesn't say anything and then hangs up.”

“You're sure it isn't a telemarketer?”

“Yeah.” She dug a fork into the greens.

“How often?” Mac bit into his hamburger.

“Every night. It's probably some kids fooling around.”

Or maybe a stalker,
Mac thought. “Any ideas on who it might be?”

“Not a clue. I've been around long enough to make a few enemies, but. . . .”

“What about that guy you went out with a while back? The one you tagged as a potential DUI.”

“Brian Henderson? I've thought about him. It may be nothing, and I'm probably being paranoid. After working on all those sex offenders, a person can get a little gun-shy.”

“Have you reported the calls?”

“To the Vancouver police? No.” She moved the greens around on her plate. “The caller hasn't done anything so far except to disturb my sleep.”

So far.
Mac didn't like it. “You're concerned, and so am I. Call the police and file a report. Maybe they can beef up patrol in your area.”