Death Walker (41 page)

Ella slipped behind the wheel. “That’s why catching this packrat
killer is so important. I better get going. I’ve got some people to interview this afternoon.” Ella checked with the dispatcher and got the address of Reverend Curley’s home. She wasn’t surprised to find that the preacher lived in the center of Shiprock, where more amenities were available, rather than on the outskirts.

Ella found the man outside watering his vegetable garden, and he smiled and
waved as she approached. He was a well-proportioned man in his early forties, with well-groomed, wavy black hair.

“I expected you earlier,” Reverend Curley said. “I heard what happened last night, and my prayers are with Sister Morgan.” He put the hose down and dried his hands on his jeans. “I knew you’d want to talk to me, but I really know nothing of this.”

“Tell me about Anton Lewis,” she
suggested.

“I always thought the man needed serious help—not just religious, but psychological. I believe anyone can find himself through Christ, but to Lewis, Christ was nothing more than a word he used as a curse, or to emphasize a point. Then again, most of what Anton does is simply for effect. I really don’t believe he’s a murderer.”

“Were you at the church last night?”

“Only for an hour
or so. My presence wasn’t necessary at choir practice. Sadie handled everything. Since many of the hymns had been translated into Navajo, she devoted quite a bit of her time to the chorus. She was a good Christian woman. I have no doubt that she’s found her place in Heaven.”

Ella said nothing, but noted that the reverend was watching her speculatively. He must have known her father had been the
last preacher of his congregation. Perhaps he was wondering why she wasn’t a member too. “Did Sadie have any enemies that you know of?”

“Not at all. She was a good Christian, and very well liked. She never married, you know. Teaching her native tongue and working for the church were her world. She led a fulfilling, though I suspect lonely, life.”

Ella wondered if that had been meant as a special
message for her, but then decided it hadn’t been. “Thanks for your help, Reverend.”

“How soon will it be before we are allowed to go back into the church? I would like to resume services there as soon as possible.”

Ella paused. “Are you sure people will come?”

Doubt flickered in the man’s eyes. “I don’t know, but I’ve got to try, for Our Lord’s sake. With all the trouble and the deaths recently,
we’ve got a lot of praying to do.”

Ella met his eyes, and saw the sadness there. He was as alone here on the Rez as she’d ever been on the outside. Her father, too, had found his religious convictions cut him off, but at least he’d had his family. Reverend Curley was alone. Perhaps that explained his comment about Sadie’s lifestyle. He also knew the cost of an all-consuming job. Without glancing
back, Ella got into her vehicle and drove away.

TWENTY-TWO

Ella arrived at the station a short time later. It was already midafternoon, and she still hadn’t eaten lunch. Her stomach growled in protest.

As she walked down the hall, Justine stepped out of her small lab. “I’ve got some news. I’ve confirmed your suspicions that the vehicle used to hit Haske was the one we found on campus. If you’ll come outside, I’ll show you what else I’ve discovered.”

Justine led the way to the fenced-in area where the towed vehicle had been placed. This impound area was kept under padlock twenty-four hours a day. Ella followed her assistant up to the car.

Justine crouched by the turn signal light and brought out a taped-together section of plastic pieces they’d found on the road at the crime scene. Ella’s assistant held it up to the car, and the edges fit
exactly, except in the spots where a few pieces were still missing.

“You see this?” Justine asked. “It fits perfectly. The paint chips also match, and the dried-up drops you found on the underneath of the bumper are blood, the same type as Haske’s. Further results that could cinch the identification are still pending. I need the crime lab to process those.”

Ella nodded. “Good job. Did you find
any fingerprints inside?”

“Too many; almost all are smudged or degraded to nothing from the heat inside the car. That was a dead end. But I did find two other things that are noteworthy. On the front seat I found a long, reddish yellow thread that I’m almost certain comes from an expensive brand of designer jeans. Those cost a bundle, and the color is distinctive. The crime lab is verifying that.
I asked Blalock for a priority, and they’ve given it to us.”

“Most of the students and the faculty wear Levi’s, Lee’s, or Wranglers. Nobody I know is exactly rich around here. How sure are you of your findings?”

“I’d bet on it. I only asked the state lab in order to confirm it. They have comparison samples of thousands of fibers.”

“Maybe the thread was left by a college official—what do you
think?” Ella speculated. “Somebody who makes the big bucks.”

“Well, that would explain the use of the fleet car. But how does that fit the profile? It would have to be a pretty young executive,” Justine said. “I asked around, but the administration couldn’t tell me who used that car last. They said they’d have to have a secretary check the records and leave a message at the station.”

“I think
we should go back to the college tomorrow if we haven’t heard by then and knock on doors until we get an answer,” Ella said. “You’re right about the profile. I find it hard to believe that the Packrat would use his own job car to kill Haske, then simply return it when he was done. We should learn how the college assigns and uses their vehicles. If the last person to legally use this car is not our
killer, then we need to learn how the Packrat got hold of the key.”

“That’s an important point.” Justine nodded. “I do know that there’s a garage near campus that services the vehicles. It’s a small operation, but the owner gave the college the best bid, and so he got the contract.”

“I’ll go over there and talk to the owner. What do you know about him?”

“His name is John Begay. He doesn’t have
any record, except for a few speeding tickets. But I remember something interesting. Several years back John and Daniel Tsosie got drunk and decided to get even with old Henrietta Johnson for something or another. They broke into Henrietta’s home, smashed her things, and scattered ashes over everything. The charges were dropped, because the boys’ parents made restitution. Nowadays, though, John
is a good citizen. He’s really too busy with work to have much free time. The garage is a two-man operation. It’s just Darrell Begay and his son John. Darrell has been sick for a long time, so John runs the operation practically by himself. In fact, he lives over the garage. John’s in his mid-twenties, and single.”

“Does he have any other connection to the college?”

“I checked and found out
that he used to be a student. I spoke to Furman earlier, and he said he remembered John from one of Kee Dodge’s classes, but that he flunked out.”

“Keep digging. In the meantime, I’m going to pay him a visit.”

“I’ll talk to Furman and try to track down a few of Begay’s professors.”

“Good. I’m on my way.”

“Before you go—” Justine cleared her throat. “There’s something you should know. It seems
that Anton Lewis went from jail to the press. He claimed we’re persecuting him because of his religious beliefs.”

“That’s a crock of—”

“I know, but he was quoted as saying that he’s no different from others who have special powers, like you and your brother.”

“You’re not serious. They printed that?”

“Yeah. I’ve pretty much covered the gist of what they wrote, but I can get you the paper if
you want to see for yourself. It’s still in my lab, I think.”

“I better read the whole article, but I’ll buy my own copy. Don’t worry about it.” Ella walked to the newspaper box at the front of the station, dropped in two quarters, and retrieved the latest issue. At a glance she could see that the murders were the top story of the day. Unfortunately the crimes had been linked by the author to
the accidents and coal mine closings under the headline “N
AVAJO
T
RIBE
U
NDER
S
IEGE.
”

Ella returned to her car and dropped the paper on the seat next to her. As she drove away, she couldn’t resist snatching quick glances. Sadie Morgan’s death had started an outcry about the police department’s inability to catch the perp. Ella, in particular, was under fire because of the prediction that the
Dineh
would continue to suffer heavily until the killer was stopped.

Ella thought of Begay. Here at least was a lead she could follow up right now. Ella drove down the highway, exceeding the speed limit by a good fifteen miles per hour. She still hadn’t had anything to eat. After she finished with Begay, she’d stop someplace and grab a quick meal.

A short while later, Ella pulled up beside a newly
painted auto repair shop about three miles down the road from the college. She recognized the place. A long time ago, before it had been within miles of anything, men would meet there to shoot craps and drink beer, both illegal on the Rez. Then Shiprock had expanded outward from the river, and now a modernized building with a two-service-bay garage had replaced the ramshackle tarpaper shack.

Ella left the Jeep and approached the office, where a man sat behind a desk reading a newspaper. As she walked inside the small air-conditioned office, Ella braced herself, determined not to let the article undermine her in any way. “I need to see John Begay.”

The young man glanced up and gave her a wary look. “Who are you?”

Ella flashed her badge. “You’re John Begay?” she asked, already suspecting
the answer.

“Yeah. What do you want?”

Ella noticed his shoes. He wore dirty cross-trainers, and they appeared to be about the right size. “I’d like to ask you about the fleet cars you service. Who brings them in and keeps track of their maintenance records?”

“I do. Is there a problem?”

Ella ignored the question. “How do you decide which cars to service? I’d like you to tell me the process
you follow.”

“Did one of the cars I repaired break down again?” he demanded. “I swear, the college gets me for peanuts, but holds me responsible for every little thing. I do all my work to factory specs.”

“Just tell me the process you follow.”

“It’s no big deal. I keep track of each car’s mileage, and I go by there at least twice a week to check them out. When they need oil changes, or tune-ups,
I bring them here.”

“What if the car needs body repair work?”

“If it’s minor, I bring in someone, like my cousin who works in Farmington. Otherwise it’s not part of what they contract me for.”

Ella was wondering why the car’s damage had not been discovered by Begay. “Do you do a walk-around to check the body every time you record mileage on the vehicles?”

“Sure.”

“When was the last time you
went up there to check?”

“Is that what this interrogation is all about? I admit my crime. I didn’t go over there last Friday. I was busy, and car use is always down in the summer.”

“I don’t work for the college,” Ella said brusquely. “Now answer my question.” Ella thought she knew the answer anyway. “Do you inspect each car for damage when you’re there?”

“No, it’s not in my contract. If the
college wants me to do that, they better let me know.”

“Okay, forget that for now. Who can access the keys to these cars?”

The mechanic looked at her speculatively. “I’ve got a set for every one of them, if that’s what you’re really asking. Also, administration normally gives out keys to their office people, recruiters, and visiting dignitaries. The college maintenance people have cars assigned
to them full-time too. You’d have to ask the head honcho there about the details.”

“Have you ever noticed any of
your
keys missing?”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re leading up to, but there’s no way you’re going to pin anything on me. My keys are right here in this office where they always are.” He opened the padlock on a metal locker and pulled a box from the lower shelf.

Ella watched him
carefully. He was wearing inexpensive jeans, probably from a discount store. But, then again, he wouldn’t wear his expensive ones to work around cars.

“Here they are,” he said, opening the cigar box. “They’re all tagged and marked. There should be thirty. Take a minute and count them yourself.”

She did. “You still haven’t answered my question. Have you ever noticed any of them missing, even
for a short while?”

He slammed the lid of the box shut. “No.”

Begay wore the right size shoe, she was almost positive about that. And if
he
was responsible for the murders, no keys would have been missing. “Have you ever gone in to pick up a vehicle for maintenance and found it wasn’t there?”

“No.”

Ella watched Begay. He was getting nervous about something. “Going someplace tonight?”

“Not
in particular.”

“You seem in a rush.”

“I want you to hurry up and leave so I can close up for the day. You’re annoying. I’ve read about you in the papers, you know. You’ve been running around in circles since you got that Navajo man shot in Farmington. I knew him. All he wanted was his little girl. Now you’re screwing up this murder investigation, trying to find this Packrat guy, while the whole
reservation goes down the toilet. Well, go look someplace else. I’m not your man.”

Ella felt her temper boil dangerously close to the surface. “You’re not making matters any easier on yourself, you know.”

“I take care of those fleet cars, that’s all. If you have a problem with any of them, take it up with the college. I’m here every day except Sunday. My place opens at seven, and stays open
until seven at night.”

“Where were you on Monday morning, two weeks ago?”

“I just told you. Here. Like every other day. I haven’t been on vacation for the last eighteen months. Since my dad got sick, I haven’t been out of this stinking garage.”