Coyote's Wife (3 page)

Nearly an hour later Ella returned to the site of George Charley’s death. Carolyn had finished her work, and was zipping up the body bag with Ralph’s help.

“I’m done here. Have you got anything else for me?” Carolyn asked, seeing Ella.

“No, that’s it. We found a bloody chain saw at
the scene where I believe the deceased’s wounds were inflicted. I’ll
have that delivered to the morgue, along with copies of all the photos.”

“A chain saw seems a likely instrument of death, but it would have had to have been an extremely sharp one, because there’s almost no bruising along the edges.”

“The saw looked brand new, and we’ll be collecting plenty of tissue samples from the blades.”

“Good. Except for the bump on his head, which was probably from a fall or the equivalent, there’s only that one jagged, diagonal laceration beneath his left forearm. The injury resulted in severed muscles and blood vessels, including the artery.”

“There was so much blood. Did he bleed out?” Ella asked.

“Exsanguination would have eventually occurred, but some victims have been known to do incredible
things before losing consciousness. Cutting himself, then driving to find help, and walking a few hundred yards or so before passing out, it’s all within the realm of possibility.”

“So, at this point, does it look more like an accidental death than a homicide?” Ella asked. “I found half a six-pack at the scene. The man had been drinking.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “That increases the odds of
an accident, obviously, but I can’t be one hundred percent certain yet. The angle of that laceration on his arm makes it a little tricky. He could have been holding the chain saw with only his right hand, then reached across with his left. Or it
could
have been a defensive wound. If an attacker came at him with the chain saw, he could have put up his arm to protect himself.” Carolyn demonstrated
by holding her arm in front of her face, as she shied back. “That would account for the wound being on the lower part of his forearm, and at an angle.”

“But why would an attacker take only one swipe at the
man? I saw the victim of a chain saw attack once, and I’ve also read about others. In almost every single case, the victim was cut to pieces. A perp has to really be amped up to use a chain
saw.”

“Agreed. So, in this case, the odds are the man inflicted the wound on himself. I’ll run all the usual toxicology tests. We’ll see if he had drugs in his system and how much alcohol.”

“We’ll process the saw for prints and reconstruct the blood spray pattern. That’ll narrow things down, too.” Although it appeared to be an accidental death, Ella would need to go through all the steps before
a final pronouncement was made.

Carolyn stood up slowly, unaided, and looked around. Ella smiled, knowing who she was searching for. “He’s not here,” she said. Sergeant Joseph Neskahi, an officer who joined their Special Investigations Unit during times of crisis, had once made an unkind comment about Carolyn’s weight. Since that fateful day, he’d become her number one choice whenever a body
had to be bagged or moved.

Ella motioned for Ralph. “We’ll load the body. Don’t worry about it,” she added, noting how Carolyn was favoring her left leg. She wondered if Carolyn would be upset if she bought her a cane. It was something to consider—for a friend.

Once the body had been secured into the back of the van, Tache joined Justine farther up the road and Carolyn and Ella were left alone.

“Thanks for the help,” Carolyn said softly.

“No problem. You should consider hiring an assistant. You’re one of a kind for the tribe and you certainly deserve full-time help, particularly now that your leg’s bothering you.”

“I had much the same thought, and the budget will allow
it,” she admitted. “But, as you can imagine, it’s not an easy thing to do. Navajos trained in medicine want to help
the living. They don’t want anything to do with postmortem. And I’d hate to hire someone from outside the tribe.”

“There’s got to be someone out there who’s right for the job,” Ella said, searching her own mind for a possibility she might suggest, but coming up empty.

“Before I go, let me take a look at the place where you found the saw,” Carolyn said, after a beat. “It’ll help me complete the
picture in my mind as I work on the body, and maybe I’ll be able to help you reconstruct the incident.”

“It’s a fifteen-minute walk. You want me to drive you over?”

Carolyn shook her head. “I’ll drive. Get in.”

Brushing aside her reluctance, Ella climbed into the van. She’d only ridden in the vehicle one time before. It had given her the creeps then and it was no different now. “How’s the diet
coming?” she asked, trying to get her mind off it.

“Slow. Fast food’s always a temptation. I used to love fixing meals in my beautiful kitchen but I hate to go in there now that Michael’s gone.”

Ella knew she was referring to Dr. Michael Lavery, her ex-husband. Michael, a retired medical examiner, had wanted Carolyn to travel with him, but Carolyn’s ties to the tribe that had paid for her education
were strong. Carolyn took pride in her work and had never let the tribe down. In the end, their conflicting goals had pulled them apart.

“Is the divorce final?” Ella asked.

Carolyn nodded. “It has been for about six months.” Seeing the surprised look on Ella’s face, she added, “I haven’t wanted to talk about it. Michael and I were wrong for each other, that’s all. But some dreams die hard, you
know?”

Ella nodded, thinking of her own life. “The work we
do …it interferes with everything. But it’s a vital part of who we are. We need it, as much as the job needs us.”

When they reached the scene Carolyn walked over to the crime scene van. Justine had placed the chain saw in a big, labeled cardboard box to protect it during transport.

Carolyn lifted the lid and examined the blood-splattered
machine. “No doubt this was the cause of death.”

Almost as an afterthought, Carolyn pulled out her cell phone, then after checking for a signal, shook her head. “A cell phone out here wouldn’t have done him much good either.”

“We really could use reliable phone service in areas like these,” Ella said.

“Speaking of that, what do you think of the new satellite phone service Abigail Yellowhair’s
son-in-law, Ervin Benally’s, proposing?” Carolyn said as they headed back to her van.

“I’m trying to find out more about it, but there’s no doubt in my mind that reliable phone service could end up saving lives.”

“That’s my stand, too,” she said, then approaching her van, added, “it was good to see you, even under these circumstances.”

“Yeah, it’s been too long. We should try to get together
soon,” Ella said, stepping back as Carolyn opened the driver’s side door.

“I’d love to have you over for dinner, but unless you’re into quick salads, there’s not much I can offer you.”

“Salad’s fine. I’ll bring some diet drinks. We’ll settle on a date once our calendars are clear.”

As Carolyn drove off, Ella’s next task weighed heavily on her—calling on the next-of-kin. It would fall to her
since Justine would be busy wrapping things up here on-site.

“Ella, while you were gone, I got a call from Dispatch,”
Tache said, coming up behind her. “The pickup’s registered under Ervin Benally’s name, not the victim’s. Justine said that the vic works at StarTalk, Benally’s company, so there’s a connection. I’ve already instructed Dispatch to have someone contact Mr. Benally and find out what’s
going on.”

“Chances are he borrowed the truck, right?” Justine said, coming over.

“Probably. But it’s certainly an interesting coincidence. Did you get good photos of the tracks left by our unidentified bystander, the one with a weakness for Nikes?”

“Yeah, and the vehicle tracks, too. Wide, like a pickup’s, but not much tread. Not like the new Goodyear tires on the Dodge. We’ll have to canvass
the area and find out who else might have been up here today,” Justine said.

“First things first. I’d like to borrow your truck, partner, so I can go notify the man’s next-of-kin. Can you two ride out together?”

“Sure, but if you give me a few more minutes, I’ll be able to go with you. We’re almost through here,” Justine said.

Ella helped them finish processing the scene, then Tache headed
back to the station. Circling back, Ella and Justine took the quickest route to the vic’s home, munching on apples and some granola bars Justine had thoughtfully brought along for midmorning snacks. On the way there, Ella called her mom and told her they wouldn’t make lunch, then she contacted the station and verified that George Charley had borrowed Ervin Benally’s Dodge Ram pickup.

“No one
was able to question Ervin Benally directly, but his wife told the officer making the call that both men started out together. Then George dropped Ervin off at Sheep Springs for some unknown reason and went on by himself to gather wood,” the woman dispatcher reported.

Ella signed off, then filled her partner in. “We’ll check this out ourselves later,” Ella added.

Following the directions Justine
received from Dispatch, they followed a set of winding roads past Chuska Peak. Then, at long last, now in the foothills west of the range, they approached a small wood frame home nestled between two hills. Beyond, they could see the main highway running north/south, and a few houses that were nothing more than dots in the distance.

“That must be the place, directly ahead, just past that small
herd of sheep,” Justine said. “I don’t see a vehicle.”

They drove past a low creekbed lined with brush and filled with grazing sheep, then parked a hundred feet from the house. Not knowing just how traditional Mrs. Charley was, they decided to wait for an invitation before approaching. The simple courtesy was the only good thing they had to offer the woman inside, who was about to receive some
very bad news.

Soon a woman in her late forties came out to the makeshift porch—a painted warehouse pallet that served the purpose. She gestured an invitation and waited for them to come up. Ella noted how her hands were wound tightly around the bottom of the barn coat she was wearing. It was as if she’d been expecting bad news.

“I hate this,” Justine murmured, climbing out of the vehicle and
fastening her shield to her belt beside her weapon. “She must have recognized us. Her husband’s probably late coming home, so what else could we be bringing except bad news?

“Once she sees our badges and sidearms, it’ll confirm the worst, even before we say a word.” She walked toward the woman. “We’re police officers. Are you Mrs. Charley?”

“I’m Marilyn,” she answered nodding, her voice shaky.

Ella broke the news as kindly as possible, giving the general details, and though the woman made no sound, a flood of tears ran down her face.

Stepping away from them, she dropped into a chair on
the porch, shaking. “This can’t be happening.” She looked at Ella, not making eye contact—a Navajo taboo—but her expression held such defeat that it tugged at Ella’s heart.

“This doesn’t seem possible.
How could it end this way? And what do I do now?” Marilyn added softly, desperation tainting her words. “When we moved here, we left my family and friends in Arizona. I’m all alone.”

Ella looked at her in disbelief. Respect for clans and extended family ties practically guaranteed a Navajo could find relatives almost anywhere. “What about your husband’s relatives?” Ella asked softly, reminding
her.

“We don’t get along.” She took a long, shuddering breath and looked up quickly. Although Ella had expected to see sorrow on her face, she hadn’t been prepared for the look of fear and dread mirrored there. “They don’t know…and they’ll have to be told. But I have no transportation. If my husband borrowed his boss’s truck as you said, then our pickup must still be in Shiprock somewhere, maybe
at the StarTalk warehouse.”

“It’s still there. I’ll want an officer to check it over first, but we’ll be releasing it soon, maybe tomorrow,” Ella said.

“My husband’s relatives will have to be told before then. You have to help me,” she pleaded. “Can you take me over to see them now? I don’t want to do that alone.”

Ella looked at Justine. This really wasn’t part of their job. Yet, whether real
or imagined, the woman’s sense of alienation had touched her. Years ago, after she’d joined the FBI, she’d lived in many different cities far from the Rez. She’d learned then how someone could feel lonely even in the midst of a crowd.

Ella nodded to Justine, and soon Marilyn Charley was on the rear bench of Justine’s truck.

“My husband’s family doesn’t like me. They may make us wait a long time.”

“Probably not when they see you pulling up with two police officers,” Justine said. “We’ll make sure they see our badges when we step out of the truck.”

Marilyn almost smiled. “You’re right. They’ll probably come out quickly, hoping you’ve arrested me.”

Justine glanced at Marilyn in the rearview mirror. “Don’t anticipate so much. Take things moment by moment. Sometimes I think that’s the only
way to get through life.”

Ella glanced at her partner. It was sound advice. She’d followed that philosophy herself once. Then she’d become a mother and her outlook had changed dramatically. Now she lived with one eye on today and another on tomorrow.