justice.
Ella brushed the fly off and stood. She’d combine knowledge with experience and bring both to bear on this case. She’d solve it, relying on logic to guard her against superstitious fears.
She picked up the press release and the envelope she’d retrieved with the photographs of thedry painting and walked out. Locking the door, she strode down the hall, her thoughts racing. Tache had spread the word, and all the offices were closed and locked. Crimes steeped in lore and tradition evoked deeply rooted fears, but it was no different anywhere else. People on the outside laughed when they read their horoscopes, or saw a black cat cross their path, but some part of them wondered.What the bilagáana world feared went by different names, that’s all.
She’d nearly passed the evidence room when, almost as an afterthought, she decided to go in for one last look. Fishing the keys out of her pocket, she unlocked the door and went inside. Harry Ute had tagged most of the evidence for delivery to the FBI tomorrow, and she’d added the bomb to the shipment. There was nothing newhere, but something continued to nag at her. She stared at the pouch containing the evidence from the ash painting and saw the small attached note Harry had left for the techs. Although the particles were minuscule, he was almost certain that what had looked like ashes had actually been nothing more than ground-up charcoal briquets. The discovery made a bell ring in Ella’s head, and questions leapedto the foreground of her mind.
Ten minutes later, Ella was racing down the nearly deserted highway toward her brother’s home. Clifford had been accepted and welcomed by the tribe after last year’s trouble. In fact, in the eyes of some, he was a hero. Public sentiment had shifted in his favor since it had been learned that he’d successfully battled the skinwalkers and had protected the tribe aswell as his family. She envied his new status, wondering if the same would ever be true for her.
As she passed the Chapter House, she noticed there was only a small gathering of teenagers hanging around outside the entrance. The well-publicized accident today had cost many Navajos a loved one. Maybe this explained the uncharacteristically poor turnout. A country-western band was playing inside,and she caught the rhythmic thumps of ground-shaking bass. Both the Anglo and Navajo culture had staked their footholds. But unlike gatherings of young people on the outside, there was no liquor on the Rez to complicate teen activities, at least officially.
After another thirty minutes, Ella slowed to take the turnoff that would lead to Clifford’s. He and his wife Loretta were going to have anotherchild, but the pregnancy so far had been troubled. Loretta was constantly ill, and had taken several falls. In Ella’s opinion, the death of their first child still weighed too heavily on them. Their son had died during Clifford’s fight with the skinwalkers, one of many casualties.
Her brother had been doing a Blackening Song to purify the land when Loretta had unexpectedly gone into labor. She’ddelivered the child stillborn. In those days, Ella hadn’t really believed that the two incidents were related, but she’d learned a few things since then.
The porch light up ahead flickered through the gloom of night as she turned down the well-worn path to her brother’s home. The small adobe structure had a new addition to it, built in preparation for the family they hoped to have.
She parkeda polite distance from the front door and waited with the headlights on to be invited in. She didn’t have to wait long. Loretta came to the front door and waved, recognizing Ella’s vehicle even in the dim light that came from the porch.
Ella grabbed the file with the photos, then went inside.
Loretta led the way to the kitchen, offering Ella some stew and fry bread. The tantalizing aroma madeElla’s mouth water, and suddenly realizing she had skipped lunch and dinner, she
Ella brushed the fly off and stood. She’d combine knowledge with experience and bring both to bear on this case. She’d solve it, relying on logic to guard her against superstitious fears.
She picked up the press release and the envelope she’d retrieved with the photographs of thedry painting and walked out. Locking the door, she strode down the hall, her thoughts racing. Tache had spread the word, and all the offices were closed and locked. Crimes steeped in lore and tradition evoked deeply rooted fears, but it was no different anywhere else. People on the outside laughed when they read their horoscopes, or saw a black cat cross their path, but some part of them wondered.What the bilagáana world feared went by different names, that’s all.
She’d nearly passed the evidence room when, almost as an afterthought, she decided to go in for one last look. Fishing the keys out of her pocket, she unlocked the door and went inside. Harry Ute had tagged most of the evidence for delivery to the FBI tomorrow, and she’d added the bomb to the shipment. There was nothing newhere, but something continued to nag at her. She stared at the pouch containing the evidence from the ash painting and saw the small attached note Harry had left for the techs. Although the particles were minuscule, he was almost certain that what had looked like ashes had actually been nothing more than ground-up charcoal briquets. The discovery made a bell ring in Ella’s head, and questions leapedto the foreground of her mind.
Ten minutes later, Ella was racing down the nearly deserted highway toward her brother’s home. Clifford had been accepted and welcomed by the tribe after last year’s trouble. In fact, in the eyes of some, he was a hero. Public sentiment had shifted in his favor since it had been learned that he’d successfully battled the skinwalkers and had protected the tribe aswell as his family. She envied his new status, wondering if the same would ever be true for her.
As she passed the Chapter House, she noticed there was only a small gathering of teenagers hanging around outside the entrance. The well-publicized accident today had cost many Navajos a loved one. Maybe this explained the uncharacteristically poor turnout. A country-western band was playing inside,and she caught the rhythmic thumps of ground-shaking bass. Both the Anglo and Navajo culture had staked their footholds. But unlike gatherings of young people on the outside, there was no liquor on the Rez to complicate teen activities, at least officially.
After another thirty minutes, Ella slowed to take the turnoff that would lead to Clifford’s. He and his wife Loretta were going to have anotherchild, but the pregnancy so far had been troubled. Loretta was constantly ill, and had taken several falls. In Ella’s opinion, the death of their first child still weighed too heavily on them. Their son had died during Clifford’s fight with the skinwalkers, one of many casualties.
Her brother had been doing a Blackening Song to purify the land when Loretta had unexpectedly gone into labor. She’ddelivered the child stillborn. In those days, Ella hadn’t really believed that the two incidents were related, but she’d learned a few things since then.
The porch light up ahead flickered through the gloom of night as she turned down the well-worn path to her brother’s home. The small adobe structure had a new addition to it, built in preparation for the family they hoped to have.
She parkeda polite distance from the front door and waited with the headlights on to be invited in. She didn’t have to wait long. Loretta came to the front door and waved, recognizing Ella’s vehicle even in the dim light that came from the porch.
Ella grabbed the file with the photos, then went inside.
Loretta led the way to the kitchen, offering Ella some stew and fry bread. The tantalizing aroma madeElla’s mouth water, and suddenly realizing she had skipped lunch and dinner, she
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