Novels
Ella Clah series
Blackening Song
Death Walker
Bad Medicine
Enemy Way
Shooting Chant
Red Mesa
Changing Woman
Plant Them Deep
Tracking Bear
Wind Spirit
White Thunder
Mourning Dove
Turquoise Girl (March '07)

Sister Agatha series
Bad Faith
Thief in Retreat
Prey for a Miracle
False Witness (June '07)

Lee Nez series
Second Sunrise
Blood Retribution
Pale Death
Surrogate Evil (Nov.'06)

Works-in-Progress
Turquoise Girl (March '07)
False Witness (June '07)
Ella Clah untitled '08
Ella Clah untitled '09

CHAPTER ONE

Ella slowed to forty miles per hour, watching for cars pulling out of businesses and for pedestrians as she passed through the heart of Shiprock. She accelerated across the old steel westbound bridge, then took the curve in the road back toward the south. Traffic, mostly pickups, gave way slowly, but she didn't have far to go.

It was a late summer, and the weather had been cool. There was a sense of purpose on the Rez now as everyone got busy harvesting and preparing for the long winter months ahead.

Reaching the turn off, she drove quickly up the long, straight, graveled lane, surprised by how well it had been maintained. The seasonal rains usually came down in sheets for a half hour each day and roads quickly eroded, etched with deep ruts that scarred the overgrazed region called the Colorado Plateau.

That wasn't the case on this road that led to LabKote, however, despite the fact that this same road also carried fairgrounds traffic and was constantly in use. Ella figured that the company must have hired a private construction company to come out here and maintain the road in order to make it easier for their own employees to get through.

LabKote was housed in what had once been the old cultural center. The employee parking lot was located outside the newly erected chain link fence and, as she drove up, she could see an Anglo man waiting for her beside a sporty looking sedan.

Ella parked her unit several spaces away in the closest slot she could find, then walked over to meet him. He was well-tanned, slightly overweight, and could have passed for a Navajo at a distance. As she got a closer look at him, Ella decided the man was probably Italian or maybe Latin American. He certainly wasn't from around here, and didn't look Hispanic.

"I'm Doctor Landreth, PH.D., not medical," he said. "I'm the general manager here. That's Kyle Hansen, one of our engineers," he said pointing to the body inside the car. "He usually came out here this time of day for a cigarette break but, when he didn't come back today, we had Jimmie Herder, one of our security guards, go check on him. He found the body less than fifteen minutes ago and we notified you right away."

As Ella approached the car, she put on her latex gloves automatically, her eyes on the scene. Like most Navajos she had an ingrained aversion to death, but she'd never let traditions interfere with her work. Then, as was becoming customary, she put on a second pair over the first. Many Navajo officers did this so they wouldn't even have to touch gloves that had touched the body, or the dead person's possessions.

Ella studied everything as she approached. Both car doors were closed, but the driver side window was open and the body was slumped behind the steering wheel. The victim's bloody head had rolled to the right, glazed eyes staring sightlessly ahead. A nine millimeter handgun lay on the asphalt below the victim's left arm, which dangled outside the car. Ella stood by the door and looked inside. An open pack of cigarettes was on the dashboard and, from where she stood, she could see the tip of one blood soaked, unlit cigarette beneath the sole of one of his shoes.

She looked at the victim's right hand, and noticed among the gore, what appeared to be nicotine stains on two fingertips.

Ella discovered two shell casings on the ground on the driver's side, and circled each with a piece of white chalk. She then stood up and stepped back, looking at the overall area.

"Is there a problem?" Landreth asked, seeing her searching the area around the car.

"Please step back," she asked, not answering. "You might accidentally disturb a crucial piece of evidence."

Another man came out the gate, a tall Anglo wearing khaki pants and a light blue print sports shirt. At his waist was a nine millimeter Beretta in a black leather holster, and on his belt a leather case like those tradesmen used for large folding knives. If he'd had a badge, he could have been mistaken for an undercover cop.

She looked up, a question in her eyes.

"I'm Walter Morgan, director of security here at LabKote. Need any help, Officer...?

"Special Investigator Clah. And, yes, I'd appreciate it if you keep everyone well back from the scene. I'm conducting an investigator here."

"Certainly, Officer Clah. Happy to be of assistance." Morgan turned and gestured to Landreth, who took a few more steps back. The security chief seemed comfortable and confident, almost of opposite of Landreth, and Ella assumed he was probably ex-military.

Moments later, she still hadn't found any matches or a lighter, despite a careful search. It was a small detail, but things that didn't fit always put her on the alert. Unfortunately, until the Medical Examiner finished her work, Ella knew she wouldn't be able to check the victim's pockets and beneath the car seat.

"Did anyone disturb the crime scene at all after the body was found?" Ella asked.

Morgan looked at Landreth and shrugged. The general manager answered. "I don't believe so, but why does that matter anyway? He committed suicide. That's clear to anyone with eyes. The gun's in his hand, or was, before it fell to the ground. This isn't a crime scene." Landreth took a step forward, pointing at the pistol.

"Suicide is a crime. Now please move back," she said again, then focused on the body. Dealing with Anglos in the public sector could be frustrating. The ones accustomed to being in charge seldom relinquished authority easily.

Morgan shook his head at Landreth, and pointed toward the gate.

"I'll block off the area with yellow tape," she heard a man's voice suddenly boom out from somewhere behind her. "They'll understand perimeters better that way."

Ella turned her head and saw Sheriff Paul Taylor approaching from his white cruiser. She'd met Taylor once at a law enforcement fund raiser, but they'd only spoken a few words. Taylor was in his late fifties and had thick but graying hair under his felt cowboy hat. Despite his laid-back rural lawman demeanor, the sheriff's pale blue eyes were eagle sharp and she'd gotten the impression he seldom missed anything.

"You certainly got here fast. I just arrived myself."

"I was just leaving Kirtland after refereeing a post-fender bender shoving match," he said. "I'll be back in a minute. Let me get the yellow tape and isolate the scene from non-Navajos."

Ella looked around for the LabKote people, and saw Landreth walking back toward the building. Morgan followed, a few steps behind. She focused her attention back on the sheriff.

Taylor had obviously learned from experience that it was unnecessary to keep Navajos away from dead people. They did it on their own. By the time Taylor began to cordon off the area, Ella had put in a call for Ralph Tache, the crime scene photographer, and the two others on her crime team, Sergeant Harry Ute and Officer Justine Goodluck, Ella's cousin. Any shooting had to be investigated, and this one, if her hunch was right, would need to be carefully evaluated before the reports were filed.

Taylor studied the body. "Who is he?" Taylor asked, reaching for his gloves. "This is an expensive little car he messed up."

"The victim has been identified as Kyle Hansen, an employee here" she said, her tone crisp and businesslike. It was easier to cope with the harsh realities of her job when she distanced herself from it. Remaining analytical and professional was the only way to survive. "From what I can determine the victim took two gunshots to the head. The first one was apparently a near miss; it just grazed his skull, and was not fatal. The easy explanation is that he probably flinched at the wrong time, or was shaking quite a bit and almost blew the job. It's not unheard of for the victim to screw up the first shot. He obviously made up for it with the second shot, which entered right though his ear canal."

"That's what made all the mess inside the car." Taylor shook his head. "But that first shot puzzles me. A round that close to his face..."

"I know. You'd think that it would have knocked him out cold, or at least stunned him for a while. Forget flinching. But I'm not the M.E. It's up to her to make that determination. I wonder if she can tell how much time went by between shots?"

"Somebody must have seen or heard something. What do you say we go inside as soon as we can and ask the folks a few questions."

"Good idea. We'll work as a team," she said.

"Deal."

As soon as the other officers arrived, Ella went with Taylor to the small guardhouse beside the only gate, but no guard was there, and the gate was open. They were halfway to the main door of the building when Landreth suddenly stepped out onto the sidewalk and blocked their way. "We're in the middle of a sterilization procedure. I can't let either of you go inside without an escort."

"We have to talk to your employees as well as to you. We need to know more about the man who died," Ella said. "We'll also want to take a look at his work station, and his employee file."

Landreth opened the main door and led the way to a small office. "We can talk here."

It only took a few questions to establish that Hansen was used to going out alone during his afternoon break. He was the only smoker on the shift, and no smoking was allowed inside the building.Hansen couldn't leave his work station without being relieved, so the routine was well established.

"So your first indication that something was wrong was when you heard the shots?" Ella asked. She felt sorry for him, he was clearly disturbed by what had happened, but she had a job to do.

"No one heard the shots, not from in here, I don't think. These walls are thick and it's impossible to hear anything that goes on outside."

"What about the guard?" Taylor asked.

"He'd locked the gate and come inside for a can of soda, which doesn't violate procedures. When Hansen didn't come in at the end of his break time, I found out the guard was still inside. I sent him back out to let Hansen it. I figured he was stuck outside."

"What else can you tell us about the victim?" Ella asked.

"He was a genius at his work, but he was messed up personally. His wife divorced him about a year ago and he never got over it. I hate to say this, but I'm not at all surprised that he committed suicide. He was unstable, and everyone who knew him will verify that."

"Was his job on the line?" Taylor asked.

"He wasn't going to be fired. He would have been too difficult to replace, but he certainly pushed it enough times. We had another big argument just a few days ago and, as usual, he was insubordinate."

"What was the latest argument about?" Ella asked.

"He wanted to redesign the software operating the sterilizing machinery. He was always trying to tweak the programs to get a little more out of the assembly line."

"We'll need to see his employee file," Ella said.

Landreth's expression grew stony. "I don't have the authority to show it to you. There's a matter of confidentiality to consider. Our employees could sue us--unless you've got a warrant, that is."

"We could get one fairly quickly," Ella bluffed. "Things move at a different pace on the Rez where everyone knows everyone else. Of course if I have to go to all that trouble, I'll have to make my time count. I'm sure I'll want to go through the entire facility--no matter what it does to your sterilization procedures. And I'd want to look at all the employee records, not just Kyle Hansen's."

"A search warrant doesn't give you unlimited access," Landreth protested.

"True. The Fourth Amendment requires us to specify both the place to be searched and the items we're searching for, but "items" can mean any papers, books and records that may help establish the identity of a killer, and the `place' can be this entire facility."

"Killer? I thought you said it was suicide."

"You said it was suicide, I didn't," Ella said.

"What makes you think it's murder?"

"I won't know for sure until the M.E.'s report is in, but the evidence is not as open and shut as you think. If you insist on standing in our way, there's also a little matter of obstruction of justice you might want to think about."

"Look, let's not get all worked up. I'll get you Kyle Hansen's file, if you'll just sign for it."

"No problem."

As he left the room, Taylor looked at her, his eyebrows raised. "You learn all that bad cop stuff in the FBI?"

Ella smiled. "That guy just annoys me," she replied. "I dislike anyone who tries to tell me how to do my job."

Landreth returned a few minutes later. "Off the record, Hansen was slowly going over the edge. His personal problems kept interfering with business. I would have fired him a long time ago if he hadn't been so important to our production line."

Ella glanced at the employee file Landreth had handed her. "It says here that he was always arguing with his supervisor."

"That's true. I am--was--his supervisor. I hired him to program the machines that sterilize our products. That's precise, methodical work and he was an excellent systems designer. But he had mood swings that really interfered with his performance. One call from his ex-wife or her lawyer, and he'd go into a depression that would last for days. Then he'd just sit there like a stone and no one would be able to communicate with him."

"We'll have to talk to his co-workers. Also, we'll need to question Jimmie Herder since he found the body," Ella said.

"I can't help you with that at the moment. Jimmie took off shortly after he notified us. We've had to call in another one of our security people to man the gate. I've tried calling Jimmie's home several times already just to make sure he's okay, but no one's there."

Ella knew Jimmie. He was a traditionalist and so was his wife. Ghost sickness was a real fear among many of the Dineh, but it was particularly so with the traditionalists. It was said that the chindi, the evil in a man, remained earthbound after his death and could contaminate the living. Jimmie would have wanted to have an evil chasing chant done for him and would not have hung around. In all fairness, even a progressive wouldn't have tempted fate by hanging around a corpse unless it was absolutely necessary.

"What about that list of his co-workers?" Ella pressed.

"No, you've gotten all you're going to get from me for now. If your coroner finds that it's murder, then come back and we'll see. But until then, I'm finished." Landreth gave her a hard look. "I'd be risking a lawsuit by giving you anything more and I'm just not willing to do that."

"Okay. Just don't be surprised to see us out in the parking lot tomorrow, stopping people as they come in. I hope that doesn't make them late for work," Ella said with a shrug.

By the time Ella and Taylor left the building, the crime scene team was working the parking lot area, and the medical examiner had arrived.

Taylor's handheld radio at his belt crackled and his call sign came over the air. He spoke quickly, then turned back to Ella. "I'm going to have to return to my office. Let me know what else you find out?"

"You've got it."

As he drove off, Ella met with Dr. Carolyn Roanhorse, the tribe's M.E., and one of the few medical examiners in New Mexico not assigned to the Office of the Medical Investigators in Albuquerque. Carolyn was a large woman by any standards, but few had the nerve to point it out to her.

Seeing Ella, Carolyn held up one hand and finished speaking into her tape recorder. After switching it off, she looked up. "You want me to tell you if this is suicide, but I won't be able to give you any definitive answers yet."

"But you've got a gut feeling, right?" Ella pressed.

She nodded. "I could be wrong, but I'd recommend you continue to investigate the possibility of a homicide on this one."

"That was my feeling, too," Ella said. Carolyn's guesses were seldom off the mark, and it was good to have her corroborate her own observations.

Two hours later, after her team had processed the area and the body and the car had been taken away, Ella went to talk to Justine.

"We need to find Jimmie Herder. He's the security guard who found the body."

"Tonight?"

"Or first thing tomorrow. I figure he's probably out trying to hire a Singer. I'll stop by my brother's house tonight and see if Herder's contacted him."

"I'll check with his family," Justine said. "If I find him, I'll let you know right away."

Ella made sure that Landreth knew her team would be back in the morning for one last look around and that a cop would remain to guard the scene until then. Once that was done, she got back into her vehicle and sped down the highway.

She'd agreed to meet her old friend Wilson Joe tonight and speak to the kids in the outreach program, but she was hopelessly late. Wilson was a full time professor at the college, but he still managed to find time to work with the younger kids on the Rez after hours. It was his way of getting them involved in something other than trouble--the kind of trouble that recently had led to the appearance of gangs on the Navajo Nation.

Right now, the kids were learning about animals and plant life on the Rez. Wilson had asked her to come and tell the kids a little about the Plant Watchers since Ella and her mother were members of that society.

As she drove to the meeting, the monotony of the landscape helped her relax. Ella's mind drifted back easily to the crime scene. That Anglo's death still puzzled her. Instinct told her that there was a lot more to it than what appeared on the surface. The evidence presented a picture filled with too many little inconsistencies. The victim supposedly had shot himself with his left hand, yet the nicotine stains on his fingers suggested he was right handed. The location and time of the shooting also bothered her. Why would he pick an afternoon break to do the job, and in the parking lot at work?

The Navajo Way said that everything had a pattern and only be seeing and understanding that pattern could one find harmony. Inconsistencies marred the order of things and revealed the pattern of evil, and that was the first step toward reversing it. She wasn't a traditionalist, but some things just made sense.

Thirty minutes later, Ella parked her vehicle and walked inside the elementary school where Wilson's group met. About ten children were in a room partially used for storage, showing off their pets and some of the plants they'd grown as part of a special project.

Seeing Wilson talking to Alice Washburn, Gloria's eleven- year-old daughter, Ella smiled at him as she approached, but didn't interrupt.

"I've named my rabbit Winnie," Alice said. "She was a gift, though Mom wasn't too happy about her. Winnie just had babies, but only one is still alive. He's really a cool little rabbit already."

As the other children started asking Alice if they could have the baby rabbit when it was old enough, Wilson took Ella aside.

"I was worried that you wouldn't make it."

"I got held up. It couldn't be helped. But I'm glad you're all still here."

"We may have a small group, but they couldn't be better kids. They're interested in just about everything."

"They look like a great bunch."

"I'm really lucky to be teaching them, to be honest. They've helped me more than you can imagine. It's been really tough for me these past few months."

Ella knew he was referring to the death of his fiancee and all the discoveries that had come in the aftermath of that incident. He'd gone through his own version of Hell, facing betrayal, heartache, and almost the loss of his own life.

"What do you think, Professor Wilson?" one of the girls asked.

Wilson glanced down at the pair by his elbow. "I'm sorry, girls. What were you saying?"

"So many people are angry over the show that the Agricultural Society held," Marcie, a little girl about eight, said. "A lot of the winners were people who had used special Anglo feeds for their animals instead of having them eat what our animals always have eaten--what the land gives us freely."

"It's still fair," Alice argued. "That feed is available to everyone."

"But the animals were even bred in funny ways," Marcie said. "Artificially, or something."

Alice crossed her arms. "So what?" She looked up at Ella. "You have traditionalists in your family, Investigator Clah, but you also went to school off the reservation. Do you believe that if we do stuff like that the gods will be angry?"

"The Plant People will think they're not needed and move away," Marcie said.

"What are Plant People?" Alice asked. "I never understand stuff like that!"

"Because your family's forgotten what it's like to be Navajo," Marcie said.

Ella knew that their were echoing their parents and the old arguments between the traditionalists and the progressives. "Our tribe calls all plants the Plant People because, like people, they can be our friends, or not," Ella answered. "Some plants are good, but others have to be guarded against. That's a fact that stays the same whether you're a progressive or a traditionalist.

"My mother said that the Plant People move away when things aren't right because, like us, they like to live among friends," Marcie said. "That's why we used to have a lot of Indian Rice Grass and goosefoot which people and livestock could eat, but now all we have are snakeweed and tumbleweeds."

Ella considered her answer carefully. The last thing she needed to do was start trouble for Wilson. "I'm not sure why things have changed, but that's why we need our Plant Watchers more than ever. They know where to find the plants we need," Ella said, starting the short lecture she'd prepared on plants and the group of herbalists known as the Plant Watchers.

After answering all their questions, Ella turned the meeting over to Wilson. He was a natural with the kids and they looked up to him.

Time passed quickly. It was a pleasure to work with younger children. Their outlooks were filled with a freshness and vitality she seldom saw in her line of work, where cynicism often ruled.

As the last traces of the sun began to disappear, the meeting was closed. She stood at the door with Wilson and watched the kids as their rides came to pick them up or they left to walk home.

Once everyone was gone, Ella helped Wilson put away the folding chairs. She worked in silence, worries crowding her mind.

"It's not like you to be so quiet," Wilson said at last.

"I just wish there was a way to integrate the old ways and the new. They each have value. Unless we can do that, I'm afraid that the kids will grow up being neither Navajo or Anglo, and having no idea where they fit into things."

Wilson nodded. "Our culture is slipping away and, with it, our own way of life. I was at a Chapter House meeting a few days ago. One of the elders reminded us that we seldom place pollen in the waters these days, yet we complain when the river becomes polluted and hurts the tribe instead of helping us. He said it'll be that way with everything unless we learn to work with our gods again."

"We're trapped, you know. The new ways seem to destroy the old in so many ways, and yet we need both."

"What happened tonight that made you late? You looked really preoccupied when you came in."

"We had a problem at LabKote," she said without giving him any details. "I have a feeling that we're in for another cycle of trouble."

"The traditionalists hate that place and everything it stands for."

"There was a death there tonight. After that gets out, it'll be worse."

Wilson expelled his breath in a hiss. "Let's not think about business right now. What do you say we go out and have some dinner at the Totah cafe?"

"I have a better idea. Come by the house with me. Mom would love a chance to cook for both of us."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. I hurt her, you know. Rose doesn't say much about it, but I know she always wanted us to get married. When I got engaged..."

"She was disappointed," Ella finished for him. "But we all have a right to live our own lives. Mom has to accept the fact that settling down and getting married is not for everyone."

"Don't you want a husband and kids someday?"

She smiled. "It's not that simple."

"There was a time when I thought you and I would share a future and start a family."

She sighed softly. "The problem between us has never changed. We're two great friends, but it's never been more than that."

He nodded but didn't answer, gathering another folding chair. The metal rack for storing chairs was against the wall and he walked in that direction.

Ella was bringing him the last two chairs when she heard her call sign come over the radio. As Wilson took the chairs away from her, she nodded a silent thanks.

Ella pulled out her hand-held radio and identified herself.

"There's a 27-5 in progress," the dispatcher said, "and we have no other available patrol units in Shiprock. A van's parked outside the public health clinic, which is supposed to be closed now, and the caller reported seeing a prowler forcing open the front entrance."

"I've got it," Ella said. Switching off the radio, she looked over at Wilson. "Duty calls."

"You should have picked a job that's more eight to five. You'd have a life then," he muttered as he walked with her outside to her vehicle.

"Maybe, but being a cop is a big part of everything I like about myself," she said, climbing into the SUV. "I can't see myself ever giving it up."

As Wilson stepped away, Ella switched on the flashers and sped back to the highway. She'd go Code One, a silent approach. There wasn't likely to be any immediate backup for her, so she'd have to make the most of the element of surprise. In the last few hours everything had changed for her, and she had no intention of taking any unnecessary risks.