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  Ella stopped by the door to the morgue. To not correct his assumption now would be the same as lying to him, but to correct it would mean risking losing her chance at firsthand investigation. She had to see her father's body, both to honor a duty to her mother and father and to gather the most information possible. Nothing could stand in the way of that.

  As she reached for the door, Peterson spoke. "Prepare yourself. His body was ... mutilated."

  For one insane moment she felt the floor beneath her feet tilting. "A pattern?" she asked, relieved when she managed to keep her voice steady.

  "Too early to tell." He led the way inside, then nodded to the technician sitting behind a desk.

  The Hispanic man opened the door to an adjoining room, and went in. The cold air that seeped out was even more chilling because of what Ella knew the place contained. She wouldn't be looking at a stranger this time. She suppressed a shudder as she saw how the floor sloped toward the large drains in the center of the room. Her knees felt wobbly, but she forced herself to remain calm and still

  as the attendant rolled out a gurney carrying a covered body.

  Ella steeled herself as the sheet was pulled back, but when she saw the bloody, dissected wreckage that had once been her father, she ran to the sink against the wall. Her father's enemies had been more savage than she'd dreamed. For a moment, she thought she was going to be violently ill, but after taking several deep breaths, she brought herself back under control.

  Turning back around, she noted gratefully that the remains were once again covered by the thin sheet. "This wasn't—"

  She broke off as a tall, brown-haired Anglo, wearing a dark gray suit and maroon tie, strode into the room. "Who's Peterson Yazzle?"

  She knew instantly that the intruder was Blalock, the FBI agent assigned to the case. One glance told her he was wrong for the job. He looked as if he'd arrived by limo from a Washington, D.C., boardroom.

  Peterson stared coldly at him. "I'm Sergeant Yazzie. I assume you're Blalock. May I see some identification, please?"

  The man flashed his gold badge, his manner condescending, as if he seriously doubted the intelligence of everyone in the room. "I'm the agent in charge of this case. Who is this woman and what is she doing here? The body has already been identified."

  Peterson glanced at Ella, then back at the man. "There seems to have been a mix-up. Meet FBI agent Ella Clah. Her father was the victim."

  "Dwayne Blalock," he said and shook her hand. "I'd like to speak to you in private, Agent Clah."

  She stepped to the side of the room with Blalock. He had

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  one brown eye and one green one. She found the oddity distracting, but pushed it from her mind.

  Since she already knew what he was going to say, Ella figured she'd save him the trouble. 'Took, this is just a misunderstanding. The sergeant is my cousin, and I had a few questions to ask him. It was professional courtesy."

  "Don't B.S. me, Clah. I've been briefed about you. You're said to be a good agent, but so am I. Don't try to get involved in my case. You have orders to stay away. You don't want to blow your career."

  "My father has been killed. What would you do if you were in my place?" she challenged.

  "I will arrest whoever murdered him," he said, avoiding the question. "I won't have you slowing me down."

  "Listen to me, Blalock. Take a good look around you. You're an outsider here, no matter how long you've been in New Mexico. To make any headway on this case, you're going to need some cooperation. Have you ever worked a case on Native American land before?"

  "I've been in this wretched backwater for two years—in other words, forever. I do whatever it takes to get the job done. Bet on it."

  "You'll need contacts on a case like this, lots of them. Very few people on the Rez will talk to strangers about crimes like this one."

  "I'd rather work alone," Blalock said, "but I'll use the tribal police if I have to. I've got to tell you, though, I've learned not to expect too much from them or their methods."

  "You'll need more than the help of the tribal police," Ella insisted. "To get anywhere, you're going to need someone like me, someone who is part of this world and yours."

  "No deal. Right now this Yazzie guy is going to give me

  a full briefing. Then I'll know what progress has been made. The tribal police chief is going to be meeting me here in a few minutes. You and I will meet later today and you'll give me whatever information you've got. After that, you stay out of it."

  Blalock paused for breath, but whatever he intended to say was cut off when the door opened and Tribal Police Chief Randall Clah stepped into the room. His presence was imposing. Navajos tended to be taller than their Pueblo Indian neighbors in the Southwest, but Randall was big even for a Navajo. Standing six feet three, he was a barrel-chested man with broad, strong shoulders.

  His gaze took in everything in the room, passing over Peterson and focusing on Ella and Blalock. His eyes were hooded, revealing nothing except perhaps polite indifference.

  Randall Clah was Ella's former father-in-law. His greeting was as cool as she'd expected.

  "What kind of operation are you running here, Chief?" Blalock demanded loudly. "The sergeant brings relatives in for a briefing without any authorization. We're going to have to set down some procedures and have a little discipline here."

  Ella clearly saw the effect Blalock's booming voice and tone had on the others. Their stiff silences spoke volumes to her, though she was certain that Blalock hadn't noticed. He probably thought he was impressing them with his take-charge style.

  Wordlessly, she slipped out of the room. Blalock's aggressiveness probably worked fine most of the time, but here, he'd just alienate everyone. On the Rez, things moved at their own pace and in their own way. Unless Blalock changed his tactics fast, official support would be grudging,

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  if given at all. She was surprised he'd been assigned to the Four Corners post.

  Ella loitered near the front entrance of the hospital, wondering whom to phone for a ride. She didn't want to bother her mom just yet, and her cousin might be tied up for hours.

  Hearing footsteps coming up from behind, she turned to see Peterson hurrying to catch up with her. "You pulled a fast one on me, letting me think you were working with Bla-lock. But it's my own fault. I shouldn't have assumed anything."

  "I had to find out for myself what was going on. My mother and brother need my help."

  He nodded slowly. "You're not going to stay out of it?"

  She gave him a long glance. "Would you, if you were me?"

  "You always did answer one question with another." Peterson gave her a wry smile. "But I'll admit it—if someone had attacked my parents, I'd use every skill I had to bring them down."

  "We obviously think alike, but that's to be expected."

  "Yeah. We're both in law enforcement," he answered.

  She shook her head. "It's more than that. We're both Navajo, and this is a Navajo situation. How has Blalock managed to last this long out here?"

  "He gets along with the Anglo politicians, I guess," Peterson conceded with a shrug. "I'll have to tell you someday about his record on our land. He forgets that once he enters the Rez, he's in our world, not his, and he sticks out like a sore thumb." Peterson pulled out a set of keys. "Come on. I'll drive you to the station. You can borrow my pickup to get home. I won't need it until tonight, and I can arrange to swing by your mom's place later."

  "Thanks, I appreciate it."

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  As Ella thought about her older brother, she worried about him. Was he out in a ditch somewhere, carved up like her father?

  Ella pressed on the accelerator and drove the rest of the way to the house. When she reached the end of the track, her mother stepped out onto the porch. Beside her was Wilson Joe, a friend of Clifford's from the old days, when they'd all attended Shiprock High.

  Rose Destea
rushed to her daughter's side and hugged her tight. "I'm glad you're finally home."

  "I got here as soon as I could."

  Rose eased her hold and stepped back. "Wilson came to offer his help."

  He gave Ella a quick half-smile. "I figured I might be of some use until you arrived," he said.

  "Thanks," Ella answered. She was glad that her mom hadn't been alone, but wondered about Wilson's willingness to come. The cloud of suspicion that rested over her family would make them virtual pariahs and might extend to anyone they associated with—until the truth came out. His presence might have been comforting to her mother, but it raised many questions in her own mind.

  Ella and Wilson stood face-to-face for a moment. She'd had a crush on him all through high school, and he hadn't changed much since then. He was as handsome as ever, tall and broad-shouldered, with a solid, though not overly muscular, build. His face mirrored the inner strength and pride that was so much a part of him. Despite her training, she found him as difficult to read as ever. Although he said the right things, he seemed to be wrapped in an impenetrable shell. She wondered why he needed it.

  "If there's anything you or your mother need, let me know. She has my telephone number. I teach at the college

  these days, and I'm usually there or at home. And you can always leave a message on my answering machine/'

  "Thank you/' Ella said.

  Ella watched him walk to an old pickup parked near the rear of the house, get in, and drive away. When she turned to her mother, the serene mask Rose had worn in front of Wilson had vanished. Deep, dark lines of despair framed her face.

  "I'm so sorry, Mother," Ella managed to say, though her throat had suddenly constricted painfully. "I should have come home immediately after you told me about the threats."

  "No, don't take responsibility for this. You've always been too quick to shoulder the blame for things that were beyond your control. Come inside. We have to talk."

  Her mother wore a traditional long skirt and a simple yellow blouse. An intricate turquoise-and-silver squash blossom hung around her neck. It had been a gift from her mother's mother, and Rose seldom took it off.

  On the surface, everything looked the same. Yet, as often happened, that casual observation was deceptive. As Ella stepped inside the house, sadness overwhelmed her and for the first time tears came to her eyes. What had been taken from them had left a gap that would never again be filled. Even their home seemed changed. A stillness had settled over it as if it waited, listening for the footsteps of one who would never return.

  Rose walked to the kitchen, and in what had been almost a ritual for as far back as Ella could remember, began fixing Ella a snack.

  "Mom, you don't have to do that," Ella said, drying her tears with a tissue. "Come sit and talk to me."

  "We can talk, but you need to eat. You look even thinner

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  than the last time I saw you, and you were practically skin and bones then."

  Ella had put on fifteen pounds in the last six years from too much chocolate ice cream. Only her daily running kept more poundage at bay, but in her mother's eyes she'd always been too thin. "I spoke to Peterson. Dad didn't say anything to the tribal police about the threats."

  Rose sighed and poured Ella a glass of a special tea she made from plants from her herb garden. Ella knew the mixture of herbs and water had steeped all day in a gallon jar sitting out in the sun.

  Chilled, it was wonderfully refreshing, with a pleasant, nutty flavor. "I bought some of your favorite ice cream, and made oatmeal-raisin cookies and chocolate cake."

  "Mom, you shouldn't have done that." Hurt flashed in her mother's eyes and Ella instantly regretted her words. "But I'm glad you did. I am hungry." She took a large mouthful of the cake her mother brought, her mind only vaguely registering the rich, buttery taste. "Tell me what's been happening."

  "Your father wanted to build his church close to where the new community college is going to be. Some of our people were very angry about it. Both your brother and I could feel danger surrounding him, pressing in from every side. But he refused to listen to us. You know how stubborn he could be. He insisted his god would protect him."

  Although her father had adopted Christianity, her mother had kept her traditional Navajo beliefs. Ella noticed how her mother had avoided the use of her father's proper name.

  "Why did people object to another church? Dad wouldn't have forced his religion on anyone." Even when her mother had refused to follow Christianity, her father

  had respected her choice, never pressuring her to do otherwise.

  "No, but you know he always tried his best to influence those whose beliefs weren't strong. That's why some in the tribe began seeing him as a threat. You see, people are finally realizing that our kids know very little about who they are. That's become a big concern."

  "But it always was, to one extent or another."

  "Yes, but those willing to fight for what we're losing have never been as organized as they are now."

  "What do you mean?"

  "A new faction actively opposes plans to build the new college. They want some of the money the tribe would spend on that used instead to pay some of our people to teach the Dineh's history and beliefs."

  "But what's that got to do with Dad?"

  "Your father's outspoken support of the college, and his insistence on building a new church close by, made them furious. They saw him as a traitor. They made him a symbol of what those who value our ways hated most." Rose paused as her voice trembled. "That's a simplified version. There's more to it, but his insistence on challenging our ways lay at the root of the problem."

  "Where did Clifford stand on this?" Ella asked, though she suspected she knew the answer already.

  Rose sighed. "He hasn't changed a bit since you last saw him, and he won't. Like me, he feels we have enough colleges and too many churches. It's time to spend our energies bringing the old ways back, and teaching others our beliefs, before what makes us Navajo is lost forever."

  "Only Clifford was far more vocal than you, right?"

  "Yes. That's his way. I never openly opposed your fa-

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  ther because I knew he was doing what he thought was best."

  "Clifford hasn't agreed with Dad on anything, as far back as I can remember. And like Dad, he's very blunt."

  Her mother smiled, but pain was clearly mirrored in her eyes. "You were always close to your father, disagreeing with Clifford and everything he stood for. But now your brother will need your support, and maybe your help. Can you set aside your differences?"

  Ella started to answer when she heard the sound of a vehicle driving up. Glancing outside, she saw the tribal police Jeep park near the front of the house. Blalock threw open the passenger door and started up the path. Police Chief Clah, respecting the Navajo custom not to approach a dwelling until invited, hung back. Ella saw him gesture, trying to get Blalock to return, but Blalock didn't even slow down.

  Ella glanced at her mother. "It's my father-in-law. He's brought Agent Blalock, the Anglo investigating father's death. Blalock is a little hard to take ..."

  "The man and his habits are well known, especially in this household. Don't worry. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's patience."

  "You'll need it with this guy." Ella tried to hide her distaste as Blalock approached the front door. He peered at her through the screen. "I'd like to come in and talk to your mother."

  "She's here." Ella beckoned him and Randall Clah in.

  Rose nodded at the men. "Make yourselves comfortable." They perched on the couch.

  Blalock turned to Ella. "I'd like to talk to your mother alone."

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  "Really? Well, we don't always get what we want/' Ella answered calmly.

  Clah's mouth twitched, but the smile in his eyes never quite reached his lips. "We want to know where your son is, Mrs. Destea," the Navajo
police chief said softly. "We hope you can help us."

  "I can't," Rose answered flatly.

  "You must have some idea where he could be found," Blalock insisted. "Ma'am, the longer he stays at large, the worse off he's going to be. We will catch him, and once the courts are told how he tried to elude justice—"

  "One second," Ella interjected. "Are you assuming Clifford killed our father?" She gave him an incredulous look. "You are out of your mind."

  Blalock shot her an icy glance. "He ran from the police when they went to question him. And dozens of witnesses heard him threaten your father. He vowed to stop your father from building his church on Navajo land."

  "So what? They argued all the time. So do lots of other fathers and sons. You have no case."

  "There are other things."

  "Like what?"

  "You're not an attorney, and I don't have to present my evidence to you. You were instructed not to interfere, Agent Clah. I suggest you remember that."

  Ella turned to her father-in-law. "You and I have had our differences. That's no reason for you to allow him to come in here and treat my mother with so little respect."

  Clah held her gaze for a long moment. "This has nothing to do with you and me."

  "I wish you'd remember that," she shot back.

  Blalock held up one hand. "Hey, I'm trying to question someone here, okay? Drop the family discussion." He

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  turned to Rose. "Apparently your son has some radical religious beliefs that have made him enemies among the Christian community."

  "Not as many as you've already made," Rose answered calmly. "I know about you, Agent Blalock, and I won't answer any more questions. Please leave my house."

  "Obstructing justice is a crime, Mrs. Destea."

  Randall Clah stood up and grabbed Blalock's arm. "A moment with you, please," he said in a low voice and took Blalock aside.