Navajo Courage

Focusing back on the case, Valerie spoke to the city officer who’d kept the witnesses separated. Elderly Mrs. Santiago had been escorted home so Valerie approached the younger woman who’d remained behind. Mary Sanchez had listed her employment as entertainer, but the short skirt, revealing tank top and hard look despite her age left little doubt what kind of entertaining she did.

“I’m tired, guys, and ready to go home. Tell me what you need so I can get out of here,” she said in a weary voice.

“We’ll make this as quick as possible. Just tell us what you saw,” Valerie said.

“It was around eight. I was on my way home—I usually cut through this alley—when I heard Mrs. Santiago looking for that blasted cat of hers. The thing’s a nuisance, but it’s all she’s got so I decided to help her find him. I know he likes digging through the garbage, so I looked in the alley near her trash can. He was up on that wall,” she said and pointed, indicating the spot just above where they’d found the body. “The cat was making such a racket I thought he was hurt, so I went over to pick him up. That’s when I saw the dead girl,” she said and shuddered. “I’ve seen people cut up before, but this was bad—real bad.”

Valerie gave her time to pull herself together. A crime scene like this one was enough to rattle even a seasoned veteran.

“The blood—it was everywhere—and that Satanic stuff, right out of a horror flick. That’s going to give me nightmares for the rest of my life,” she whispered. “And poor Mrs. Santiago. She came up behind me for a look before I could warn her away. She nearly fainted.”

“Did you notice anyone else around—maybe someone wearing a gray sweatshirt, hood over their head?” Luca asked.

“Not today. Sometimes I see people in sweats out jogging, but that’s usually closer to the university,” Mary answered.

Leaving her to sign the statement she’d given earlier to the county officer in charge of the crime scene team, they followed up on Mrs. Santiago.

The sergeant who’d secured the scene directed them to a house two doors down. “That woman’s got to be in her eighties and she was looking downright frail. I let her go back to her home and left an APD officer with her.”

When Luca and Valerie arrived at the house they were greeted by brightly colored flowers that edged the path to the front door. Although the paint on the trim was faded and the screen door looked worn, they could see that the owner had done her best with her limited budget.

Mrs. Santiago was a small woman with intelligent eyes that, at the moment, mirrored only a barely contained panic despite the presence of the burly city cop standing beside the window.

Not wanting to traumatize the elderly woman any further, Valerie released the APD officer, then, seeing a knitting basket across the room, smiled. Her mother had been an avid knitter and if Mrs. Santiago was anything like her, the activity would immediately relax her.

“Let me move that closer to you,” Valerie said, picking up the basket. “That’s a lovely sweater,” she added, looking at the partial work lying on the top.

“It’s for my niece. I’m hoping she’ll come for Christmas….”

“That’ll be a wonderful present,” Valerie said. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Mrs. Santiago fingered the yarn absently then picked up her needles and began to knit. “I’m going to have to stop letting Oscar out. These days, between the gangs and the drugs, no one’s safe. But the way that poor woman was massacred, and those things around the body…” Mrs. Santiago shuddered and her knitting needles began to click together at a furious pace. “That’s not drug related or the work of the gangs around here. That’s brujería.”

“Excuse me?” Valerie asked.

“I know witchcraft when I see it—but that’s not Spanish brujería. That’s from your people, isn’t it?” she asked, looking at Luca.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“I overheard two officers talking,” Mrs. Santiago said in a hushed tone and crossed herself. “When you’re old like me, people don’t notice, or maybe don’t care that you’re there. Sometimes that’s a good thing, other times it’s not.” She paused and lapsed into a long, thoughtful silence.

Getting impatient, Valerie started to press her, but Luca shook his head and signaled her to wait.

“Like that strange man I saw this morning,” Mrs. Santiago added at long last. “He hovered around at the edges of the crowd, watching the officers instead of trying to get a look at the body like the rest of the people there. I think he was more interested in the officers’ reactions than anything else.”

“What was he wearing?” Valerie asked immediately.

“A gray sweatshirt with a hood. He was probably a jogger trying to lose weight. He must have been sweating like crazy in that outfit.”

“Did you happen to get a look at his face?” Luca asked. “Was he Anglo, Indian, maybe black?”

“I didn’t get a close enough look. All I really noticed was the sweatshirt ’cause it struck me as odd in this heat. Then a deputy asked me a question. By the time I glanced back, the man was gone.”

“How tall was he?” Luca asked. He’d never seen the person standing still up close, and it was harder to estimate the height of someone who was running.

“He was about your size and weight. But that’s all I can tell you. My eyes…they don’t work too good at a distance.”

Despite that, their oldest witness had noticed more than most others had today. “We’ll need you to sign a statement, then we’ll be out of your way,” Valerie said.

“Good, because it’s time for me to get Oscar’s lunch ready. He gets crabby when he doesn’t get his tuna on time.”

Soon they left Mrs. Santiago’s, and, as they walked back to the scene, Valerie matched Luca’s strides. He was built for strength and endurance…. The possibilities sparked her imagination.

Almost instantly, Valerie pushed those thoughts firmly back, shaking her head.

Noticing it, he glanced at her. “Something wrong?”

Just with my brain. She scrambled for a way to cover for her lapse, and then answered. “You and I need a way to communicate out in the field,” she said. “We got separated back there while pursuing the suspect and things could have gotten out of hand in a hurry. Let me give you my cell phone number in case that happens again and we need to find each other fast.”

As she gave him her number, he wrote it down on a notepad he’d taken out of his jacket pocket.

Bringing out her PDA, she waited for him to reciprocate but he didn’t volunteer the information. After a moment she added, “I need yours, too.”

“I don’t have a cell phone. They don’t work well enough on the Rez to make them of any real use to us. We have radios in our department vehicles and carry handhelds.”

Valerie just stared at him. “No cell phone?” Had he told her that he’d just beamed down from an alien spacecraft, he couldn’t have surprised her more. Her cell phone was permanently attached to her ear. She’d almost worn it into the shower a few times.

“In that case, I need to get one for you,” she said after a beat.

“How about a handheld radio?”

“I’ll find both—a radio and cell phone for you,” she said, heading over to get the emergency spares in the crime scene vehicle.

After making sure he had one of each, Valerie arranged to get the surveillance tapes from the nearby businesses, especially those within a four-block stretch along Central Avenue. Maybe they’d get lucky and locate an image of Hooded Guy.

They continued to work the crime scene until midafternoon, viewing surveillance feeds from the various businesses by using the equipment in the crime scene van. Unfortunately, none of the cameras had revealed the passage of a man in a hooded sweatshirt. He had either not been wearing the sweatshirt when passing within camera range or had traveled along a side street.

Once the crime scene unit finished with their on-site work and began packing up, Valerie and Luca headed back to her unmarked unit.

“Do you know where you’re staying, or were you supposed to make arrangements once you got here?” Valerie asked him.

“I figured I’d track down a motel after I got here. Any suggestions?”

She paused, considering her answer. There was an empty furnished apartment next door to hers. She knew that her landlord would happily allow an officer to use it, too. Yet something told her that having nothing but a thin wall between them would make for some very long, restless nights. “Let me think about it while we go over to the university. We need to pay Professor Finley a visit.”

Chapter Four

Ten minutes later Valerie parked her department vehicle in the empty police parking space just a hundred or so feet from the anthropology administration office. While en route they’d called ahead and learned that Dr. Maurice Finley was chairman of the department and “somewhere” on campus. He’d be sent a text message to meet them at his office.

Luca stepped out of the passenger side, admiring the tall pine trees around the older pueblo-inspired structures of the UNM campus. Large expanses of grass and plenty of shade were a welcome relief from the places in the city he’d already been to today.

Valerie reached into her pocket, feeling for the photograph of the victim the crime scene tech had printed out for them back at the crime lab van. Somehow, she doubted that it would do them much good here today. Introductory classes like the low-numbered 100 courses tended to be very large at the university, where the enrollment exceeded 26,000 students. But they had to try.

“There are probably more students here than in the Navajo Nation’s largest town,” Luca said, mirroring her thoughts. “Unless the victim sat in the front row of the class, chances are the professor won’t have any idea who she was.”

“Probably so.” As Luca and she walked together, Valerie grew aware of the outdoorsy scent that clung to him. It fit him perfectly. There was something about Luca that reminded her of the rugged New Mexican desert. He belonged out in nature—just as much as she belonged in the city.

As they entered the air-conditioned building, she felt in her element. A few minutes later they were seated on comfortable padded chairs along a glass-paneled wall in the department’s main office. Several people came in, including an energetic dark-haired man who glanced at them with interest after noting their weapons. The older student, probably in his late twenties and carrying a briefcase, turned to the attractive dark-haired office assistant.

“Hey, Steve,” the young woman said, looking up at him and giving him a big smile. “What brings you by here?”

“I couldn’t find Dr. Becenti,” he said, “but the sign on his office door says he’s supposed to be there.”

The woman checked something on her computer monitor, then looked up and shrugged. “You’re right. It’s his office time according to his schedule. Maybe he dropped in earlier, but took off when nobody showed up. Did you have an appointment?”

“I didn’t think I needed one.”

“There’s an Anasazi dig going on up in Rio Rancho. He might have gone there to check it out. You could try there next.”

“Okay, Bernie, I’ll give that a shot,” Steve said, then left in a hurry after glancing at his watch.

A few minutes later, a fit-looking man in his late thirties, wearing slacks, a lightweight tan blazer and carrying a leather briefcase in his free hand, rushed into the office. A bicycle helmet was under his arm.

“You must be the police officers,” he said, spotting them instantly. “I’m Maurice Finley.” He nodded to Luca and shook Valerie’s hand.

“Sheriff’s Office. I’m Detective Jonas. This is…my partner,” she said, unsure about using Luca’s full name out loud.

Giving her an imperceptible nod, Luca answered, “Navajo Tribal Detective Nakai.”

“The text message from my secretary said you wanted to speak to me concerning one of my students. Is he, or she, in some kind of trouble?”

“Can we do this inside your office?” Valerie said, noting the department secretary and another student employee nearby within easy listening range.

“Works for me. This way.”

A few minutes later, Finley looked up from the photograph Valerie had handed him, a grim expression on his face. “Poor girl. And, yes, I do know who she is.” He looked at Luca. “I’m going to have to say her name. Is that okay with you?” he added, obviously familiar with Navajo fears concerning the recently deceased.

Luca nodded.

“This is—was—Lea Begay, a young Navajo woman who was enrolled in my survey course, Anthropology 101. With a lecture hall full of students I ordinarily wouldn’t know her name, but she and I had a private conference a few weeks ago.”

“And she wasn’t happy with the outcome of your meeting,” Valerie concluded, recalling the written comment Lea had made.

“How’d you know?” Finley asked, then, not waiting for an answer, continued. “She was having trouble with a class and wanted to drop out before her current grade could go into her records. She was afraid of losing her scholarship. As head of the department, I promised to bring up the matter with her professor.”

As he spoke those last words, he didn’t look at either of them, and that made Valerie suspect she wasn’t getting the complete story. Glancing over at Luca, she saw he hadn’t bought into it either.

“How far was she willing to push to get what she wanted?” Luca asked. “And did she end up making any enemies who were in a position to retaliate?”

“You mean like me? I barely knew the girl, and I never spent time with her except in class—and that one meeting. All I can tell you is that she didn’t drop out of my lecture. It was Dr. Becenti’s class that she was concerned about. Her friends or family might know more about that.”

As if sensing something still left unsaid, Luca continued to press. “This Dr. Becenti…Is he around?”

“He’s got class coming up at the top of the hour,” Finley said, checking the schedule.

“What can you tell us about him?” Valerie asked.

“He’s got a reputation for being a tough instructor. A lot of people, not just students, have had problems with him before.”

“Like you?” Luca asked.

“Yeah, like me. But I’m just one of many.” Finley took a deep breath then let it out again. “To give you an idea, last summer he went to the Rez to conduct research for a paper about some obscure tribal sect that traced its roots back to the Civil War. Although he’s part Navajo, and that should have cut him some slack, he managed to get everyone ticked off at him.” He shook his head then shrugged. “I don’t know what it was, but no one, from tribal historians on down, would even meet with him. The lack of trust he generated cost him a substantial grant.”

Several minutes later Valerie and Luca returned to the car. “We didn’t get the whole story on Lea…the victim,” she said, quickly correcting herself. “Did you see how he deflected and talked about Becenti instead?” Valerie asked as she climbed behind the wheel. “According to the person I spoke to when I first called, Finley had nothing on his schedule when we were chasing the suspect around the apartment buildings.”

“We should check out Dr. Finley’s background and see if he has alibis that’ll account for his time during either of the murders. He’s obviously familiar with Navajo customs, and he knew one of a hundred and fifty students by name. He also arrived here after a hot, sweaty bike ride—and maybe a run across a roof or two earlier in the day. It could all be coincidence, but it merits a closer look.”

“Those apartments near where we found the body are only a few miles east of the campus. He would have had plenty of time to ditch the sweatshirt and binoculars,” Valerie said, backing out of the parking space. “Finley appears fit, is younger than I expected and the victim was a pretty young woman. I’m going to have a deputy dig deep into the good doctor’s background—and have officers speak to everyone in the victim’s classes.”

“What about this Professor Becenti? He’s in a position to know something about the victim—and Dr. Finley,” Luca suggested. “Should we go back and track him down?”

“He’s supposed to be teaching a class right now. Let’s catch up to him later,” Valerie said.

“Okay. In the meantime, how about showing me the other crime scene?”

“Good idea. The first murder took place out in the county near an irrigation ditch.”

“So either our killer likes changes of scenery or he’s been targeting specific victims and the murders aren’t random,” Luca said.

“We’ll be looking for commonalities between vic one and two, but for now all I know for sure is that they both looked alike—same general description—hair color, height and weight and so on.”

Valerie took the freeway. “You okay if I make a stop to change? I got something sticky on my blouse when I slid down the pipe chasing the hooded perp.”

“Sure.”

Within minutes they arrived at her apartment.

She lived beside a small city park less than a mile west from I-25. Six units stood side by side, all part of a reconverted pueblo-style mansion in an old section of the city. The parking area that surrounded it was nearly empty at the moment.

“Most my neighbors work and are almost never home. Then again, neither am I,” she added with a shrug.

As they entered through the front door, boxes of all sizes and shapes greeted them. One coffee cup with the three little pigs emblazoned on it had been left on top of a large box next to an easy chair. A television stood about four feet in front of it against the wall.

“Just moved in?” he asked.

“Sorta—two months ago. Like I said, I’m never home.” She crossed the small living room and headed to the bedroom. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Valerie stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. There were more clothes on the floor than in the closet or drawers—meaning laundry day was long overdue. She hadn’t had a chance to do more than rinse out a few things in the bathroom sink for the past two weeks. Grabbing one of the few remaining clean shirts from the closet, she hurried back out to meet Luca and found him at the kitchen sink, his hand cupped beneath the faucet.

“Need something?” she asked.

He sipped the water in his hand. “I just wanted a drink,” he said, then dried his hand on a paper towel. “I couldn’t find any glasses.”

“I haven’t unpacked them. I use the Dixie cups,” she said, handing him a three-inch cup. “They were on sale,” she added with a sheepish smile. “See, the thing is I generally don’t have visitors. When I come home it’s just to sleep.”

Valerie knew she was talking too much. She often did that around people she didn’t know well. With so little idle time in her life, her socializing skills stunk. Yet, all things considered, there was no place she’d rather be than hip deep in a case. That was where she excelled.

As Luca entered the cluttered living room, he stopped by the sideboard and reached behind it. A small, broken picture frame was lodged between that piece of furniture and the wall. “Remnants of an old boyfriend?” he asked, fishing it out.

She looked at him in surprise, and laughed, seeing what he was holding. “No boyfriends—old or new. That was undoubtedly left by the previous tenant.” As a kid living with a single mom she’d learned one thing—happily-ever-afters didn’t exist. Everything came with an expiration date—relationships, jobs and even people.

By the time they walked out of her apartment, the sun was low in the sky and sinking fast. “I can take you to the crime scene, but it’ll be dark soon. I doubt we’ll be able to see much.”

“What was the victim’s time of death?” he asked.

“Around nine at night, according to the M.E.”

“This time of year that means it took place just after it got dark. The murder was premeditated, so he probably arrived earlier and waited for her to pass by. I’d like to go over there now and see the place as he did, at around the time the crime went down.”

“This guy felt safe enough at both places to stick around and set the stage, too. That means he must have spent some serious time selecting each site.”

“My guess is that long before the crimes went down, he checked out traffic patterns, people who live in the area and maybe even introduced himself to some of them as, say, a prospective home buyer, so they wouldn’t get suspicious seeing him around.”

“Sometimes serial killers will pose as utility workers, too, so keep that in mind as we poke around the area,” she said. “We’ll check out the first site then, afterward, we’ll get you settled in somewhere.”

“Can you recommend a motel close to your place? It’ll make things easier since we’ll be riding together.”

“The apartment next door to mine is empty for now since my landlord plans to have the place completely repainted. It’s convenient, but the walls are paper-thin,” she said, then with a quick grin added, “If you snore, the deal’s off.”

“Take the risk and find out for yourself.”

His low, husky voice teased her, and a shiver touched the base of her spine. The problem with Luca was that mystery clung to him like a second skin, and her imagination, always up to a challenge, was filling in the gaps in all sorts of interesting ways.

She switched off the ignition. “I’ll tell you what. Get your bag from the back. We can get the key from the landlord. We’ll leave your stuff here, then be on our way.”

A short time later she unlocked the apartment door adjacent to hers and showed him in. With no boxes lying about it looked roomier than hers, though they were exactly the same size.

“A word of warning—hot water’s in demand each morning,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “In other words, move fast or you’re liable to run out in the middle of a shower.”

He quickly placed his duffel bag on the couch then met her by the door. “Okay, let’s get going.”

She blinked. She’d fully expected a crack about conserving water. Most of the men she knew would have considered it a matter of macho honor.

No matter how she looked at it, Luca wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known. He was quiet control and vibrant sexiness all rolled into one exciting package.

Valerie locked the door and gave the key to Luca. As she turned around, their eyes suddenly met. The intensity mirrored in his gaze spoke to her without the need for words, awakening something nameless deep inside her.

Valerie tore her gaze from his quickly and headed to the car without looking back. The man was Big Trouble. No doubt about it.

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