repeated.
“I’m going with Agent Klein to another crime scene. We might not be back to the dig site when the forensics team gets there, but two Navajo Tribal officers will be there waiting for them.”
Again it seemed like she was writing instructions down. “I’ll let them know.”
“Okay, thanks,” Palmer said into the phone and hung up.
• • •
Thirty minutes later Palmer followed Klein and Begay into the small town of Iron Springs. The town was spread out among the dusty hills. They passed a convenience store, a small church, two lines of commercial buildings lining each side of the main street, a fire station/police department, a Mexican restaurant. Beyond the buildings was a water tower rising up into the clear blue sky. Some of the roads branched off from the main road and led to areas of houses or plots of land with trailers on them. They took one of these side roads, heading back out into the barren desert again.
Dotting the tops of the hills in the distance were several trailers, some sitting inside acres of land that had been fenced off where groups of sheep, cows, or goats grazed. Once they were past these homesteads, they rounded a curve where the hills rose up sharply on one side, then flattened out again as they descended down into a valley. On the left side of the road were some small, squat houses set far back from the road and each home sat on at least an acre of land. They drove to the last house and Palmer followed Klein and Captain Begay, pulling over onto the side of the road in the front yard. This house looked neat, the front yard dotted with carefully planted desert fauna in a gravel bed. The house looked recently painted and the metal roof looked newer.
A Tribal Police vehicle, another Dodge Durango, was already parked in the driveway. A police officer with the now-familiar green coat on stood beside his vehicle waiting for them. A compact car was parked in front of the cop’s car, tucked away and protected underneath a metal awning that was connected to the side of the home. A mid-nineties Chevy pickup truck with a king cab was parked in the patchy grass beside the carport.
Palmer and Klein got out of their vehicles at the same time. They walked with Begay towards the waiting police officer. The officer was young and slightly overweight. His dark hair was cut short with a neat part on one side.
“What’ve you got?” Begay asked the officer.
The officer didn’t answer. Palmer couldn’t tell for sure because of the mirrored sunglasses the man was wearing, but he would bet a week’s pay that the man’s eyes had darted to him and Klein in suspicion, spotting two outsiders.
Begay picked up on it immediately. “It’s okay to talk in front of them. This is Special Agent Palmer with the FBI and you’ve probably met Agent Klein before.”
The introduction didn’t seem to set the officer at ease.
“What have you got?” Begay asked again and his tone was unmistakably more forceful.
“Man and woman,” the officer said. “Both dead.” He hesitated for a moment like he wasn’t sure if he should say the rest, but then he added: “It’s John and Deena.”
Begay was silent for a moment and very still. Palmer guessed that the news wasn’t a shock to Begay, he apparently knew this house and he knew the people who lived here. “What about David?”
“He’s not in there.” The officer sighed; it was practically a shudder. “It’s bad in there. I’ve … I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“You put out an APB on David?”
“Yes, sir … regional and statewide. I’ve also got John’s sister, Awenita, calling around about David.”
“Who’s David?” Klein asked.
“He’s their son. He’s only nine years old. He might’ve been taken,” Begay said.
Or worse, Palmer thought, but he didn’t want to voice their deepest fears.
The officer turned and led the three of them to the front door of the house.
Palmer pulled out another pair of blue
“I’m going with Agent Klein to another crime scene. We might not be back to the dig site when the forensics team gets there, but two Navajo Tribal officers will be there waiting for them.”
Again it seemed like she was writing instructions down. “I’ll let them know.”
“Okay, thanks,” Palmer said into the phone and hung up.
• • •
Thirty minutes later Palmer followed Klein and Begay into the small town of Iron Springs. The town was spread out among the dusty hills. They passed a convenience store, a small church, two lines of commercial buildings lining each side of the main street, a fire station/police department, a Mexican restaurant. Beyond the buildings was a water tower rising up into the clear blue sky. Some of the roads branched off from the main road and led to areas of houses or plots of land with trailers on them. They took one of these side roads, heading back out into the barren desert again.
Dotting the tops of the hills in the distance were several trailers, some sitting inside acres of land that had been fenced off where groups of sheep, cows, or goats grazed. Once they were past these homesteads, they rounded a curve where the hills rose up sharply on one side, then flattened out again as they descended down into a valley. On the left side of the road were some small, squat houses set far back from the road and each home sat on at least an acre of land. They drove to the last house and Palmer followed Klein and Captain Begay, pulling over onto the side of the road in the front yard. This house looked neat, the front yard dotted with carefully planted desert fauna in a gravel bed. The house looked recently painted and the metal roof looked newer.
A Tribal Police vehicle, another Dodge Durango, was already parked in the driveway. A police officer with the now-familiar green coat on stood beside his vehicle waiting for them. A compact car was parked in front of the cop’s car, tucked away and protected underneath a metal awning that was connected to the side of the home. A mid-nineties Chevy pickup truck with a king cab was parked in the patchy grass beside the carport.
Palmer and Klein got out of their vehicles at the same time. They walked with Begay towards the waiting police officer. The officer was young and slightly overweight. His dark hair was cut short with a neat part on one side.
“What’ve you got?” Begay asked the officer.
The officer didn’t answer. Palmer couldn’t tell for sure because of the mirrored sunglasses the man was wearing, but he would bet a week’s pay that the man’s eyes had darted to him and Klein in suspicion, spotting two outsiders.
Begay picked up on it immediately. “It’s okay to talk in front of them. This is Special Agent Palmer with the FBI and you’ve probably met Agent Klein before.”
The introduction didn’t seem to set the officer at ease.
“What have you got?” Begay asked again and his tone was unmistakably more forceful.
“Man and woman,” the officer said. “Both dead.” He hesitated for a moment like he wasn’t sure if he should say the rest, but then he added: “It’s John and Deena.”
Begay was silent for a moment and very still. Palmer guessed that the news wasn’t a shock to Begay, he apparently knew this house and he knew the people who lived here. “What about David?”
“He’s not in there.” The officer sighed; it was practically a shudder. “It’s bad in there. I’ve … I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“You put out an APB on David?”
“Yes, sir … regional and statewide. I’ve also got John’s sister, Awenita, calling around about David.”
“Who’s David?” Klein asked.
“He’s their son. He’s only nine years old. He might’ve been taken,” Begay said.
Or worse, Palmer thought, but he didn’t want to voice their deepest fears.
The officer turned and led the three of them to the front door of the house.
Palmer pulled out another pair of blue
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