Turquoise Girl (28 page)

Marianna looked up. “You two okay?” Her voice was shaky.

“Yes. Lynn shot Caleb, am I right?” Ella verified. She
recalled seeing the blue pickup, but had lost track of it when the action started.

“I’d warned her to stay in the pickup, but she came up right behind me,” Justine said, looking up, but keeping one hand on her prisoner. “Nobody even noticed her until she started shooting.”

Ella and her mom climbed down from the roof into the courtyard. Rose looked bewildered, but remained steady as a rock. Rose
squeezed Ella’s hand tightly, then turned and headed into the house.

Ella then went to join her team, whose voices were being drowned out by the siren from the EMTs’ truck as it raced up the road. Seconds later, the emergency vehicle came to a stop. As the medical team worked, Marianna and Justine led Lynn past Ella.

Lynn’s eyes were wild, her face flushed with anger. “Is he dead? Is he dead?”
Lynn kept repeating all the way to the Marianna’s squad car.

Ella looked over at the EMTs working on Caleb, then back to Lynn, being placed in the backseat, a prisoner now. Neither would escape justice.

Two days later, Ella and Justine sat across from the chief’s desk. Big Ed looked somber. “What’s the word from the hospital on Caleb Frank?” he asked.

“Caleb will live, if you want to call
it that, but he’ll never be able to walk again, or even feed himself. His spine was pretty much severed. He’s lucid, despite the pain, so maybe he’ll discover firsthand that hell he’s been preaching about,” Ella said.

“Why did Lynn Bidtah follow you there? I still don’t get that,” Big Ed said.

“Lynn loved Stan Brewster,” Ella answered. “She wanted his killer dead. I just never realized what
price she’d be willing to pay to make it happen.”

“I spoke to Caleb briefly at the hospital,” Justine said. “He was eager to confess, and proud of what he’d done, if you can imagine. Turns out Brewster killed Valerie, just like I’d thought. Caleb saw Stan leaving the apartment. When he went inside, Caleb found the body. Brewster’s wife confirmed it. She opened up to me yesterday and showed me
her bruises. Donna said that Stan had been getting increasingly violent. My guess is that he went too far with Valerie.”

“Dr. Roanhorse matched some of the DNA collected at Valerie’s crime scene to Stan Brewster,” Ella said. “The evidence supports the conclusions.”

“With all the players either dead or in custody, our case is closed,” Big Ed said. Then he lowered his voice. “Except for the Fierce
One still employed in this department. He or she is working on borrowed time.”

Ella nodded, recalling Ralph Tache’s contacts with the group and hoping against hope he wasn’t the one. She wouldn’t want to be in his shoes for anything if it was true.

“Okay, enough shoptalk,” he said with a shrug. Standing up, he reached for a cardboard box he’d placed beside the wall. Inside was a hammer and other
hand tools. “It’s time for us to go. We don’t want to be late.”

Justine stood up. “I left my tools in my office.”

Ella gave them a curious look. “What’s up?”

Big Ed grinned at her. “Word got out about what happened at your home, and how your entire family worked to stop a killer. Church volunteers and some traditionalists and New Traditionalists are already there to finish the roof and make
that courtyard something special.”

Justine grinned at her. “Even the Fierce Ones showed up. They’re going to put in benches and flagstone.”

Big Ed looked back at Ella. “You’ve got friends.”

Ella thought about the diverse group that was gathering to help her family. For the first time in a long time she saw herself differently. Being
’alní
, part traditionalist and part modernist, had often meant
being torn in half. But maybe along the way she’d become a balance point—an anchor of moderation between two extremes—understood by neither side, but respected by both. It was the place she was meant to fill.

As the words of the Navajo blessing said,
Hózonji háaz ’dlíí
: It was beautiful all around her.

To those experts and specialists in law enforcement who’ve helped us with the tools and techniques of their profession, especially Jack and Judy. And to M. K. for her help with the Navajo language and customs of The People. The knowledge shared was given freely and generously, and if any mistakes have been made in translation, they are our own.